


Somewhere Tonight

by tweekwonder



Category: South Park
Genre: Adoption, Drug Withdrawal Mention, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Child Neglect, Past Drug Addiction, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, alcohol mention, drug mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-05-28 08:39:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 52,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6322564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tweekwonder/pseuds/tweekwonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you get when two ex childhood friends come together for a project near the end of the school year? Well, definitely not love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Close Encounters of the Fifth Kind

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic so I have no idea what I'm doing. At all. I don't even know if this is good enough but whatever I want to give this a shot. Updates will be who knows when since, as I said, I have no idea what I'm doing and have school. 
> 
> Tweek is the main character but there will be perspective changes marked by "[ . . . ]" (only Tweek and Craig get perspectives) but Tweek will be the main one. Tracks at the beginning are just what I feel fits with the mood so check it out if you want. The title comes from a Beach House song, in case you were wondering. 
> 
> This will be a work focusing on my version of them but hopefully they aren't too ooc since there's not much to go on (christophe and damien especially) and i haven't seen all south park episodes.
> 
> EDIT: Chapter 1 has been edited. I uploaded it originally once it was finished but never looked it over, oops. So if you want to, check it out again, but it's not completely different, just fixed and added some stuff.

Tracks:

Teen Suicide – Benzo

Last Dinosaurs – School Is So Easy

 

 

You know the saying that goes somewhere along the lines of pieces falling together to signify some sort of content by the way life is going smoothly? Yeah, well that sort of thing usually occurs in fragments as time passes; it’s not that huge so you don’t even realize what the hell is happening since it’s portrayed so smoothly and continuously. Or if you do it’s fleeting and never permanent, it stays for a while and then the tranquility fades until you’re back to something neither quite as great nor worse. It’s usually never life altering and dramatic, it’s just _average_.

Sometimes even painstakingly average you can’t help but feel cheated out of the intensity that’s commercialized. It’s always some grand moment where suddenly the stars align, problems fade, and everything ends great with no chance of going back to the way it was. _If only._

But it’s not. That shit takes time. Trust me, I know. Or at least for me and those close to me it did.

It takes enough time that sometimes you’re overtaken by the dread, knowing there’s a fine line separating your progress and what used to be. And you hope to whatever that the line isn’t crossed. Or you don’t care.

I’m not okay. In the head, that is. I guess to be more specific, I’m not okay in the same way most of my age group is. Call me special, but I’d like to think most sixteen year olds haven’t had to go to rehab for an addiction that wasn’t their fault at an early age. Or have their own little pharmacy in their medicine cabinet for chemicals their brain can’t produce. I’ve needed psychiatry for as long as I can remember and though I’ve never been ostracized – at most some teasing and name-calling – people never completely understand because it’s _not_ them who’ve had your experiences, your life, your anything.

That’s probably why we tend to drift towards people with similar issues, or at least near the same level, and find solace in them.

I guess if I had to describe my life up to this point I’d say it was okay. And I mean ‘okay’ in a loose sense of the word. My childhood sure as hell could’ve been better, but I guess things are making up for it now. My parents are still oblivious but at least they aren’t neglectful anymore and not giving me drug-infused substances. They’re even trying to be there, though sometimes they can still be aloof; probably not a result of the meth coffee.

I haven’t had to seek help for my ‘issues’ as often anymore. Most likely because the hybrid caffeine left my body, and now the only ‘ticks’ I have are small and usually controllable. The main outward projections of what can’t be controlled are the dark circles under hazel eyes a big bigger than normal, bruised knuckles and elbows from when I accidentally hurt myself, bruised forearms from when hold myself too tight during the occasional panic attack, and small cuts from either handling art tools wrong or picking and/or scratching myself. Quite a list, but as I’ve said, I’m more in control of myself now.

My best friends are my soul mates, if that kind of thing even exists.

Christophe is still a snarky French mercenary, though the nature of his business is generally accepted as easily as saying ‘the sky is blue’ or ‘the American education system is shit,’ and the information he does give about his business does get one to question his particular choice of extracurricular activities, but who am I to judge?

Damien is still the antichrist – not that there’s anything he can do about that – who will eventually succeed his father in the ‘family business,’ though he saves the whole ‘eternal damnation’ and ‘perpetual suffering’ shtick for hell dwellers. Here on the surface he’s generally also a snarky little shit, but that’s probably why the three of us get along. Peas in a pod, I guess.

Bebe, the newer addition to the limited access club I’ve just now dubbed the ‘people I trust more than irrefutable facts like gravity or that decaf is the work of the Canadian devil,’ is the only person with whom I can act like a moronic dweeb with (besides the aforementioned two) and vice versa and the only person I know act as a pseudo mother/sister and be comfortable enough to not hesitate to let into my personal bubble.

Anyone who knew me as a kid would not be able to comprehend the dynamics of Damien, Christophe and I’s friendship, but unlike them, they don’t know me. Or at least they didn’t continue to know me.

I know people who know ‘enough’ about us and are judgmental refer to us as a trio consisting of a ‘bastard, freak, and monster.’ But that’s just the surface of who we are.

Sometimes I do wonder what it’d be like to not be me, or at least just a facet of what I could be if I weren’t some of the things I am. Would I have grown more comfortable with myself? Would my parents have eventually figured out how to be parents on their own? Would the closest people in my life that truly matter still be a mercenary, the spawn of Satan, and a radiant head cheerleader?

But that’s all it really is: wonder. Guessing. I did some things right along the way and I was finally at a place where I wouldn’t want things to change.

I know how some of this sounds like so far. It’s kinda jaded, right? Well it doesn’t make it any less true. But I don’t want to start when things weren’t okay, rather when things continued getting better. Not that everything’s either been bad or good, but rather an in between, which I suppose is how things are meant to be.

If this were a play or a novel there would be a main character, which I suppose is me, and a plot. Well, this is the story of a boy. Particularly the story of how this boy, Craig Tucker, became more than a boy to me.

 

* * *

 

“Open the door, man!” No matter how much I kept jiggling the door handle to the black Nissan, the brunet behind the wheel was intent on messing with me. After a while longer I gave up in frustration. _It’s too early for this_ , I think to myself as I turn my head towards the overcast sky and sigh. Perhaps this was some sort of sign telling me to go back to the confines of my room and just ditch school. _Well, it_ is _the last day before spring break and school lets out early_. About to make up my mind and flip off my friend, turn around and head back home, the car lock clicked. After brief consideration, I resign and just open the door and get in.

“Christophe, you jerk, it isn’t funny,” I tell the smirking tanned teen. The window on his side was open to let the cigarette smoke out and I hadn’t bothered to go over the driver’s side window and press the lock button to open the door myself, but now I wish I had just to smack him upside the head. He flicks the cigarette butt out the window and reaches for the extra thermos in my hands.

“I beg to differ, mon amie. The look on your face was definitely worth it,” he laughs and I stick my tongue out at him. As he uncaps the thermos and starts drinking the coffee, I take a moment to notice his appearance. His job or whatever you want to call it, usually involves risqué situations and sometimes he doesn’t finish the ‘job’ without a few scrapes. Though usually not bad, sometimes a few bruises or cuts, last year he received a pretty bad wound. “’Tis but a flesh wound,” he had tried to joke and tried to calm me down by saying the knife just grazed him, but I was having none of it and flipped my shit at him, saying that knife fights aren’t typical activities teenagers engage in. We fought for a while over this but eventually came to an understanding: Damien gets to be the final verdict over whether or not he takes the job or not, and that was that.

Now he only has a bandage on the side of his jaw and I raise an eyebrow at him.

“Rough night?” I ask.

“Just some business that needed to be taken care of,” he replied. His accent wasn’t as prominent as it used to be (according to him), and it came off thicker when he was tired, in a heated conversation, or when under the influence. But now it was coming off a bit thicker than usual. He was tired and considering the darker than usual pigmentation under his eyes, a feature we have in common, it must’ve been a pretty taxing job.

Other than that, he seemed fine, so I just nod and he starts the car to make our way to school.

“If you say so,” I reply as I look out the window. We pass by some familiar houses and others that weren’t. In less than a decade South Park has made pretty big changes. It opened up big businesses that didn’t used to be in this redneck town and more people started moving in, which in turn helped make the town more progressive. Weird shit didn’t happen anymore, and sometimes I wonder if it’s because the perpetrators (Stan, Kyle, Kenny, and Cartman) grew up or if it never happened and it was just in my head. But I know it did because then how could a mercenary and the antichrist be here without anyone batting an eye. This was definitely not a normal town, regardless of whether or not weird shit went down.

“If you’re that worried over it, you could just come with me,” he challenges me. We don’t talk much about what it is he gets up to, not because it’s taboo, but more like it’s not important. Kinda like how he doesn’t ask what I do at work or how we don’t ask Damien about hell; it’s just not crucial because on some level we know enough about each other that things like that aren’t definitive aspects of who we are.

I look at him with wide eyes, “No way, man! What if I get fucking shot at or get someone killed?! That’s too much pressure to put on me, no way in hell am I doing that!”

He laughs at the thought. “Calm your shit, it was a joke.” I probably looked worked up over thinking about being his partner in crime (literally) even though I know it was a joke.

“I know, but still!” I notice my fingers fidgeting a bit and try to still them.

“Don’t be too quick to say no. You’re fine with some of the dumb shit we do, this would be just like that,” he offers through a grin.

“But this would be different. And besides, we get pretty close to being caught sometimes! Digging a huge ass hole near starks pond in the middle of the night just for shits and giggles last year isn’t the same as breaking into government buildings,” I cock my head at him, punctuating my point.

“You’re right about that,” he agrees and takes another sip of coffee as we wait at a traffic light.

“Besides, I still can’t believe Damien freaking ditched us when people came close to the damn hole! Wait, actually I can. That asshole even laughed at us when he disappeared.” Just recalling the idiotic incident was giving me anxiety. Thankfully it was just a late night runner and no one found Christophe and I, who jumped in the hole to hide. The mystery behind who dug it remained a mystery to this day and even after it was refilled, there’s a notable difference between the ground and where the hole used to be.

“I should’ve made that shithead lick the principal’s dick just for that,” Christophe says. “And on the topic of dicks, you know, the only good thing about this companionship is the good coffee,” he jokes as he continues to drink, one hand on the wheel and the other on the container.

Near the beginning of our friendship he kept to himself, a did I, and it took a while for us to be completely comfortable enough to start joking around. If it were others, he wouldn’t bother trying to be civil enough to carry a conversation. The smirk on his face and teasing tone are proof of all the time we spent getting to know each other, and the same could be applied to Damien. Not that we’re antisocial, just that we’re more reserved.

“Oh really? You’re more than welcome to drink shitty coffee like most people, y’know,” I tell him back and laugh as I see he scrunched his nose in disgust. In the years we’ve known each other, one of the things we found to have in common besides messed up sleep schedules was our taste in strong coffee, and how though there’s always a surplus of coffee in the world, it’s hardly ever done right.

As he finishes for the moment he hands the thermos back to me to cap it and I place it on the cup holder.

“Do you think it’s some sort of stereotype, your penchant for coffee? You know, it could fall under the whole thing about being a snob about coffee, since you do put down a lot of the stuff people make,” I tell him and grin at the thought.

“Peu m'importe. Mais non. It’s not being a snob. Not my fault people can’t fucking get it right.”

“Pretty sure it’s the same thing, smartass.”

“Maybe. But I’ll deny any affiliation to the word, connard,” he says as he pulls into our usual parking by the back of the school near the sports field. Most students took the bus or parked at the front of the school, and when Christophe and I agreed on carpooling last year (I get free rides and he gets free coffee), we unanimously agreed at parking by the mostly empty lot at the back of school.

“Is Damien coming today or is he still busy with the whole ‘issue’ in hell?” I ask as we exit the car. The past couple of days Damien had to bail out of hanging out to have a talk with his dad on his plans, meaning was he still going to continue studies on earth or was he going to start early in succeeding him.

Satan was surprisingly a good parent, I’ve met him a few times as his only son and I started getting closer, and though I pretty much was shitting bricks the first time we met, we somehow got along and were on okay terms, even though he’s in hell. He even got Damien to go to anger management as a kid and got him used to being around humans.

“Don’t kn-” Christophe began but was cut off by Damien appearing by us. _Speak of the devil. Or, devil’s son._ He lived in hell after elementary but came back near the end of 8 th grade to practice large-scale teleportation between hell and earth. He mastered it quickly but as a result mainly opted to teleporting places, too impatient and lazy to sit in a car and makes use of his ability. He promised me he wasn’t spying on us when I asked how he could appear before us so accurately and he explained it was like a weird internal navigation system that could take him where he wanted as long as he pictured the place or people.

“So?” I ask the taller boy dressed in all black, unaffected by his sudden appearance. The slight wind blew some of his wavy black hair in his eyes and he combed it back in place. “Trouble in paradise?”

He smirked at my question and said, “I told him nothing’s changed. I will resume my studies here and then devote time to take over the business. It’s the same brief discussion that takes days to be had” he remarks and rolls his eyes. Though clearly annoyed, the red-eyed boy was relieved the discussion was over, at least this time. “We still on for Bebe’s party next week?” Though his voice wasn’t deep, it had lowered compared to the high pitch he had as a kid. “I don’t think Cartman’s attending this one.”

At this news, my interest peaked. Cartman wasn’t as much as an asshole and his friends didn’t get into weird shit anymore, but he was still an asshole that liked to tease others. I usually didn’t give a damn since we don’t cross paths that much, mainly due to the increased school population ever since South Park became more populated. But one particular day I was not in the mood and mixed with his sudden urge to tease me, I decked him hard as he was spouting shit about my ex addiction and parents, even going so far as to call me nuts and gay (pretty sure he was just guessing at the last two). Although I know by now most of the shit he says he has no idea about, I still hit him and don’t regret it. Christophe and Damien were there and even offered me a congratulatory pat in the back. Luckily it was outside school grounds so I didn’t get in trouble.

“How can I refuse when you put it like that?” I beam at the red-eyed raven. “Besides, it’s Bebe. Of course we’d be there even if that jerk would go.”

“No insufferable asshole? Count me in. I already took care of things I had to do so it shouldn’t be a problem,” Christophe told us. “Now our game will be more enjoyable, which is good since it’s your turn,” Christophe smirked as we made eye contact.

“That it is,” I replied, looking forward to the party a week from today. We continued to hang out until we had to part ways to our classes. Teachers were relaxed today since it was the last day before break and they either taught a laid back version of their lectures or let us do what we wanted for the rest of the class. Thankfully most teachers I had decided on the latter. I was able to enjoy most of my coffee and listen to music, draw, or read whatever book I left in my bag, feeling mellowed out.

By lunchtime, we all met at our usual table outside by the trees at the back of the school. Christophe liked that it wasn’t supervised, so he could smoke freely without anyone getting on his case about it, a fact all the students who smoked, not that there were many, appreciated so the area became known as the ‘burnout’ zone for some reason. Bebe preferred to refer to us as ‘misfits’ than ‘burnouts’ after we all hung out and watched _Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer_ during winter break after the ‘island of misfit toys.’ Damien and Christophe also consider her a close friend, so they took the comparison without arguing.

The only other people I knew that hung out here were the goth kids, who still remained together after all these year, though they weren’t as preachy about conformists. They were even pretty cool to talk to sometimes. The only one that was separated was the younger goth kid, Firkle, who was in his last year of middle school.

The day seemed to go slower or like if everything was moving though syrup or something, but here in the open everything seemed calm instead. Although it was already spring, the weather was still a bit cold and a bit of snow and rain still happened, and with the grey sky overhead , it was pretty nice out. Probably because of the promise of no school for a week was affecting the mood, but whatever.

Damien and Christophe were sitting at one end of the table and I on the other, trying to draw the scenery, including Christophe smoking and Damien reading. They didn’t mind being used as references or subjects and were pretty cooperative. My favorite drawing I did of them was during our road trip last summer. They wanted to cross the state border but I was too worried since we were under 18 and didn’t have any paperwork (I didn’t know if we needed it or not so I refused to cross even after they tried to convince me) so they made me promise we would go somewhere this year, away from Colorado.

Anyways, the drawing was of the guys laughing. Damien had agreed to sit through the drive and he was pretty grouchy for a while (he agreed to this year’s trip too but made us promise we would let him take us somewhere his way after graduation; something that took much longer convincing me of than the trip this summer). But after a while the mood improved and we took turns choosing the music and singing along, and it was during my rendition of Avril Lavigne’s “Girlfriend” that they lost it so I committed the moment to memory and drew it out and it now hangs on one of the walls in my room.

I was finishing the sketch and taking a few bites of whatever I brought from home (seriously, who the hell feeds kids processed foods that look hardly like they’re supposed to) when I felt a pair of arms wrap around my neck and I jumped up and shrieked. “Gah! W-Who is it?!”

“Calm down, it’s me,” came a laughing feminine voice. Looking up, I saw it was Bebe and as I calmed down, she rested her chin on top of my head. The guys looked up at the noise and saw the pretty blonde in a black and white striped shirt with a cloud of blonde curly hair down and turned their attention our way.

“To what do we owe this pleasure?” Damien addressed her.

“Well, kind sir, I have cometh to see if thine presence shall be seen at my abode next day of fri,” she steps back and curtsies, to which we laugh. It started off as a way to make fun of the way Damien used to talk in elementary but was now used to joke around in general sometimes.

“Yes, milady, we shall,” I reply.

“Good, because you guys need to get out more. And by that,” she shoots us a look before we can interrupt her, “I mean hang out more with others. I know you guys mainly stick together but it’s nice to get a change of scenery once in a while. What better way than a party!”

“You make it seem like we’re those ‘stay at home and jerk it all day without seeing the sun’ kind of people,” Christophe raises his brow at her and puts out his cigarette as Bebe lets out a small noise in disgust.

“Yeah, and we do go to parties so I don’t know what you mean,” I add.

She just rolls her eyes. “I mean in the time I’ve known you guys I haven’t really seen you with other people as much as you’re with each other! How do you expect to meet people and form relationships like that?”

“We talk to people in class. Tweek even more than us. Don’t you talk to Stotch and Stoley a lot in your art class?” Damien turns to me, signaling me to chime in and defend our social skills.

“Yeah,” I nod, “we don’t hang out much outside school, but still. Are you sure this is about friendships you’re getting at?” She was exaggerating and it seemed like she might be projecting something at us or wanted to get to a certain topic. Not sure which one but it was weird.

She takes a moment to think it over until she sighs and flops into the seat next to me. “No, I meant romantic relationships.” _Bingo._

“Not to pressure you or anything, but shouldn’t you guys have some sort of interest in this?” She looks at each of us individually. “And sex or anything without strings attached doesn’t count,” she sternly adds.

“I don’t see the point in that,” Christophe adds. Though he does have an interest in sexual rendezvouses with people, the whole romance department never interested him. “And neither does the gothic fuckwad next to me.” Instead of fighting the insult, Damien just nods. He’s near the same boat, but doesn’t care about having that kind of relationship with anyone, though he does flirt back if someone daring enough approaches him. Something about giving credit where credit is due or something like that. Plus I think he finds it enjoyable.

“Then that leaves you, babe,” Bebe turns to me. “The only action you’ve gotten hasn’t led to anything from what you’ve told me and you’ve had crushes before!” _Traitor._

I squirm at her accusation, and feel a bit unnerved at being at the center of conversation for this particular topic. “I, uh. I-It’s just that . . . agh! It’s not that important! If something happens, whatever man. It’s not like we’re dying yet, there will be opportunities just not now!” So far the ‘action’ I have gotten hasn’t led to any romance, not that I’m complaining, and the crushes I have had aren’t that big to make me want to act on them. Again, not complaining. There are far pressing matters than high school romances, like the existence of aliens, did the city of Troy really exist, and why haven’t people published scientific journals on gnomes?!

“What about you! What going on with Wendy/l?” I raise my eyebrow in a ‘don’t you dare lie because you know it’s true’ kind of way, desperately trying to shift the focus to her, which works so now it’s her turn to wriggle under the attention.

“You know, forget I said anything,” she laughs nervously and clasps her hands together. They used to date up until last year and I think they might want to get back together but I can’t be so sure, since I have the romantic intuition of a goldfish.

“By the way, can I get a few more extra shifts at the coffee shop during break?” she suddenly asks to lead the conversation away from where it was going. It was her fault, but we all look at each other and decide to drop the subject.

“Sure, I’ll ask my dad but I don’t think there’ll be a problem,” I tell her. We continue talking for the rest of the lunch break, making idle conversation and joking about each other. Overall, it was a pretty good day and I was feeling pretty fucking great and looked forward to an easygoing break, that is, until I arrived at my last class of the day.

History usually was pretty interesting, but the lesson ended earlier than usual.

“Okay, I know you guys are eager to get started on your plans for your break, but I have an announcement,” Mrs. Allen said to the class, the eagerness to get school over with affected the mood of the class.

“I’ve decided instead of a final and extra assignments that your last work for the semester will be a project,” her announcement immediately excited the class. Although the most classes weren’t usually hard, not taking a final at the end of the year was appealing and it gave me over a month to work on the project.

“I’ve decided to let you have free reign on a topic and format to create it. There will need to be a physical presentation of the work like a poster and a 5-7 page paper. You won’t have to present it but we will have a gallery walk in class on the last week to see your work. Since I’m giving you a lot of time I expect this to be done well. I’ll even set aside some class time each week to work on it and meet with me if you need it.” _Oh sweet Jesus. Thank you!_ I didn’t need the pressure of presenting in class so anything to avoid them was a huge plus.

“Now, I can see you’re all relieved. I’ll call up the names of your partners going by alphabetical order . . . ”

 _Shit!_ Although projects weren’t that common in our curriculum, those we did have usually resulted in me having to do either most of the work or all of it. And then the asshole/s in the group got a free ‘A’ for nothing. At least it wouldn’t be presented, so if it did turn out to be like other times I could at least do the work without worrying about presenting, hopefully not even get to pretend like the other person was going to help. However, my hopes deflated when I heard her call the name of my partner.

“Tweek Tweak, you’ll be working with Craig Tucker.” She continued to announce the remaining pairs but all I could think was who I was stuck with. Craig and I had been friends in elementary but throughout middle school I went through things and drifted apart from a lot. Despite this, I remembered that the boy I knew got into some fights in middle school and often ended up in trouble. I still don’t really know much about him now, we don’t hang out at all and although we have seen each other around, I never had reason to acknowledge or interact with the guy.

Trying to rack my brain for information on the boy I used to be friends with, all I could remember was that we were okay I guess. But I mean, this was elementary and as kids you don’t really have a strong connection with a lot of kids your age. You mainly just hang out together and play games and stuff, so I don’t really have a clue how he’s like. He could be a giant asshat for all I know and not even bother trying to help out. Maybe he’d even go as far as to try to be an ass and bring up things about myself he had no idea of but thinks he can say shit about because we used to be friends.

 _You don’t know this for sure,_ I try telling myself, but of course it’s still possible, and he wasn’t exactly a sweetheart as a kid. _You weren’t either, you beat him up and put him in the hospital,_ but he also put me in a hospital. We beat the shit out of each other in third grade, but that was mutual. _He hangs out with Cartman sometimes. Cartman!!_ Okay, maybe that one might not be true anymore but I have no idea.

I don’t pay attention to him; I know he’s been in a few of my classes throughout the years but we don’t talk or even acknowledge each other. I doubt he even knows he’s in my class. I’ve seen him at parties before but again, we’ve had no reason to talk to each other. We’re not even in the same friend circle. He hangs out with Token and Clyde still and I hang with the ‘foreign’ menacing looking guys by the ‘burnout’ area (which is a stupid name who the hell would do drug in school out in the open).

Trying to pinpoint the possible personality of the now grown up Craig Tucker was turning out fruitless. I just had no damn clue about the guy, so I just decided to give up on the useless task.

Looking for the blue hat I knew he sometimes still wore, I didn’t see him in any of the seats. As the class ended, my mood plummeted and I got annoyed at Ms. Allen, the project, and more at the missing possible asshole who didn’t even bother to come to class.

“ _Fuck_.”

 

[ . . . ]

 

“Wake up, asshole!” was the only thing I got to hear before being crushed by the weight of someone jumping on me.

“Jesus, Clyde what the fuck,” I groan and push the laughing asshole off me as my brain tries to catch up with what was going on. So far, the only thing it was sure of was the imminent death of my ass of a best friend.

“Dammit, if only Token was here then I could’ve recorded this. I would’ve gone for a ‘Jackass’ feel. You know, ‘Hi, my name is Clyde and this is Jackass’ and then belly flopping the shit out of your sleeping ass,” his smile was huge at this point and I flipped him off.

“Clyde, I hate you. Leave,” I mumble as I bury my head on my pillow.

“Aww, come on. Token had to go to student council so I took it on myself to visit your lame-ass since you ditched us today. It’s the last day before break, did you not give a shit or were you up all night on the roof? And judging by the nerd equipment still out I’d say it was the second one,” he finishes by flopping besides me on the bed.

I continue to ignore him. Hopefully this is a horrible dream and when I really wake up he won’t be here.

“Seriously, man. Did you spend the whole night stargazing? On a Thursday?!”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you, so fuck off before I decide to listen to the booming voice in my head telling me to backhand slap you.”

“It’s almost 4, you missed school, and . . . oh my god you even forgot to put on your retainer,” he ignores my comment and laughs. I glace over to see he’s holding the blue plastic case covered in faded star stickers and just sigh in resignation.

“Okay, okay since you’re so intent on staying, yes. Yes to everything, so what. Like you said, it’s the last day so it’s not like I missed anything important,” I turn over so I’m on my back, giving him as much attention as he so desires.

Last night was clear and there was a full moon out, so why the hell would I _not_ go out and use the telescope I spent most of my allowance and Christmas money on. But I didn’t feel like explaining this to the blob next to me so I just turn my head in the direction of where Stripe’s cage used to be. I still missed the little guy. He held out for a long time and passed away a few months ago, so I guess you could say I was still mourning. If I had the money I would just buy a star and name it after him, it’s the least I could do.

“How’d you get in anyways?” I finally turn away and ask as he puts back the retainer case on the nightstand and stands up off the bed.

“Ruby was leaving when I came so she let me in. But never mind all that. Guess what fucking finally happened!”

“By the way you say it, it sounds like nothing I care about,” I say as I stretch. I fell asleep in the clothes from last night and if it weren’t for the still slightly chilly weather it would’ve been uncomfortable.

“No, come on! Guess!” he was already jumping in excitement over the news so I gave in and offered half-assed responses.

“Well, Stan and Kyle got their shit together and finally started at the beginning of the year, so it can’t be that. Did the school finally fix the bathroom stalls?” Somehow most of the stalls in the boy’s bathroom had either shitty locks or completely missing doors, but I doubt their fixing would be this much of a good news.

“No! Though that would be helpful, especially with the crap they feed us.”

“Ugh, just tell me. I already offered a guess.”

He scoffs. “Wow, that must’ve been so hard for you, sorry to put you through the pain,” he rolls his eyes.

“Yes, it was. Thank you for your acknowledgement.”

“Fine, sir whines-a-lot. Kenny and Butters got together. But today she was Marjorine, so Kenny and Marj.”

 _Wow. Finally._ Those two have been going around in circles over whether or not the other one liked them back. It was damn annoying and if I had to listen to Kenny if whether they liked him back I would definitely be close to punching him.

“Jeez, finally. Now the only one that’s left is you.” Clyde’s been almost as annoying, always looking at Kevin, but never saying anything about what was going on between them.

“I . . . It’s not the same. Kenny and Marj are new at this and I don’t now if Kevin would want to get back together,” he moves to the desk chair and I sit up in bed.

“You guys started dating near the end of middle school and a bit of high school. It’s not going to be the same if you get back together, which I think he does too,” I offer. The last time we met for club he asked about Clyde and although he didn’t say much else, he looked the same as how Clyde looks when it comes to him.

He just looks around the room for a while in silence. The walls are painted blue and there are posters about the universe, movie and show posters, and pictures of Clyde, Token and I throughout the years on them as well as pictures family and Stripe. The ceiling has old glow in the dark stars Ruby gave me four years ago as a joke but the joke was on her, I still put them up. I tried to shape them into constellations by looking at pictures for reference but didn’t come out that accurate. Damn mass-produced kids toys.

After a while at this, he finally speaks. “Anyways, now that I think about it, you did miss the history announcement. We have to work in pairs for a big project. Damn, I’m glad Bebe’s in my class and we’re paired together. She’ll definitely help out. Oh, and since you so graciously missed, I guess you have no clue who your partner is,” he teases me and I _graciously_ flip him off.

“Gee, thanks for that. Remind me again why we’re even friends because as we get older the harder it is to see why I keep you around.”

“Well, _I_ have no qualms about our friendship. You give me attention, even if you don’t like it, and I get to bug you. You get someone who doesn’t mind being with you, so I think that’s a beautiful friendship right there,” he clutches his fist over his heart as he says this and I roll my eyes at him.

“Qualms, huh? Are you actually using the word of the day calendar Token and I got you?” During one of those late night trips to the local 24 hours a day 99 cents and up store to buy junk food for our sleep over, we found a tear away calendar with SAT words on the bottom and their definition so we bought it for Clyde as a joke. We also found Santa Claus porcelain figures with the words “Merri Crissmas,” and I considered buying one for Token but in the end chose not to.

“I’m dyslexic, not stupid you jerk,” he says and we laugh, “it helps know the actual day when the battery on my cell dies too, so thanks.”

“You’re welcome. So, you and Bebe? Are you sure you’ll be able to work or are you going to be too busy talking and not doing shit?”

“Rude. And you don’t hang out with Bebe so you wouldn’t know that yes, she does her work. Why else would she continue to be head cheerleader? They have to keep up with their schoolwork just like any of the athletic teams too you know.”

“Well I’m not what you’d call ‘knowledgeable’ about those things.” I quirk my brow and smirk at him.

“Yeah, no kidding. Your expertise is having your head up the universe’s ass and going to your astronomy club.”

“Whatever, jock.”

“Nerd.”

“Loser.”

“Lame-o. So you getting up or are you just going to stay in bed. ‘Cuz, not gonna lie, I will leave. That’s just too boring and I don’t feel like playing video games right now. I crave human interaction and if you don’t give it to me I will find it somewhere else!”

“Fine, mom.” I get up and grab a change of clothes and head to the bathroom to shower. When I come back Clyde’s reclined on the chair and is on his phone. We head into the kitchen and grab whatever there is to eat. Mom and dad aren’t home yet and who knows where Ruby went so the only people in the house are two teenage boys. I know some people would have ‘exciting’ plans but I prefer just hanging around. Call me simple, but I prefer things nice and boring. I look over and see Clyde is tapping away on his phone, alternating between taking a bite out of his food and texting.

“Who are you talking to? I thought you said you needed attention.”

“Well, I get physical and digital attention like this. And Bebe; we started to think about what to research but now we’re just talking.”

“You never explained what exactly we have to do,” I tell him and he explains. So maybe it wasn’t the best idea to stay until sunrise and skip, but it happened. Now I have to figure out who I’m paired with and figure out if I’m going to have to do the work or if they’ll help. And judging by what Clyde said, I’d rather do it myself even if it wasn’t that hard.

“Well, since I’m _such_ a good friend I just texted Bebe and asked her to text Nichole or someone to see who you’re paired with since I know how much of a pain in the ass you think group projects are,” he placed his phone on the table and as I was about to reply back to him, his phone vibrated and we looked at his phone at the same time.

“Do you want a drumroll or straight to the point? I don’t know either so this could be the big reveal for both of us,” he wiggles his eyebrows.

I cock my head sideways and give him my best ‘are you kidding me’ face, to which he laughs. I swear he lives to annoy me and yet I stick with him; guess the bonds of our friendship are sadly strong enough. “Can we please get this over with already?”

“Ugh, fine. You’re no fun,” he looks at his phone and looks slightly surprised by its contents.

“Well?”

“Tweek.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re partnered with Tweek for the rest of the semester.”

 _Oh._ We used to hang out in elementary but middle school came with changes, one of which was the nature of our friendship. We stopped hanging out and haven’t talked since. There was news that the Tweaks used to put meth in the coffee around this time, and supposedly they went through rehab and now that the coffee doesn’t have crack, it supposedly tasted pretty good, considering they had more business and more people went there. I know this because my parents sometimes drop by to get a cup before work and mention it in passing. In any other town they would’ve gone to prison or had their business taken away, but this was South Park so it wasn’t that big of a deal compared to other shit that’s gone down.

To be honest, I didn’t even notice he was in my class. I can’t remember hearing any outbursts or noticing anyone extremely jittery, but then again I hardly pay attention to others and wouldn’t even have know Nichole was in my class if it weren’t for the fact she’s our sort-of friend considering she and Token used to date. But now that I had to count on him for the class for the rest of the year, I’d rather just work alone.

“Well, since I can see you’re still processing this, Bebe said she’s working and I’m heading out to hang out with her so you should come, and before you say no, which I know you will,” he made a point to raise his hand to stop me from saying anything, “Bebe works at Tweek Bros., and she said she’s on her shift with Tweek right now so you can go and settle the whole partners thing. She says that you’d better put in your share of the work.”

I think this over for a bit, and nod in agreement. It’s better to get this over with as soon as possible, so I put on a clean hoodie and hat, grab my phone and keys and we head out the house and into the Donovan’s old Chevy that was passed down to Clyde.

 

[ . . . ]

 

The guys had plans afterschool and since driving was an unnerving task and I had no car, I caught a ride to the coffee shop from Bebe, who was sharing a shift with me today. We mainly talked about her party, or at least she did most of the talking and the only thing that was offered on my end were hums in agreement or small smiles at her excitement. It wasn’t until we were in our work aprons and were set up for our shift that she addressed the elephant in the room.

“Why so glum, chum? It wasn’t what I said at lunch right? I didn’t mean anything bad by that. You don’t need me to serenade you, do you?” she took my hand in hers and pulled me into a hug. It only took a second before I shook my head and wrapped my arms around her, wallowing in the warmth she always radiated. Bebe has a nice voice and we find ourselves singing and dancing to the music we put in the café, but the mood wasn’t right. So we just stayed like this for a while until a bit of room was placed between us so I could look up at her. She was taller by a few inches and her big curly hair was up in a thick scrunchie; loose hairs caught the light, creating an artificial golden halo.

My reaction to being partnered suddenly felt very inane, but decided on coming clean, so breaking our embrace and feeling a slight warmth on my cheeks in embarrassment, I confessed. “You know the project for Allen? Well, I, uh. I-I’m paired with Craig.”

She quirked her brow in response and mulled it over for a bit. “Okay? I’m sorry, hon, but I don’t see the problem. He’s not bothering you, is he?!”

“N-No! No, that’s not it,” her sudden defensiveness dwindled and though she knew I could defend myself, she was protective of the people she cared about, which reassured the nature of our relationship, yet didn’t help the embarrassment over how the project was being blown out of proportion. Primarily (and only) by me.

“It’s just that I always do the work, a-and I mean, it’s usually no big deal. But Craig and I used to be friends as kids but we haven’t talked to each other since so for all I know he could be an insufferable ass and I-I don’t know. I guess I’m just tired or something and I’m making a big deal out of nothing.”

“Well, I’m not gonna lie but he can come off as one, not that we hang out but just from what I’ve seen. However, to what extent, I’m not so sure. Token and Clyde are his friends still so he can’t be that bad. We aren’t exactly friends, but I don’t think he’d bail on the project. And even if he does, there’s a long time to work on it and if you need help you can always come to me or broody and broodier,” she jokes and I give a breathy laugh. She was right, of course, so I nodded and we got to work.

Business was slow today, so we spent most of the time talking, on our phones, and helping ourselves to the free coffee that came with the job, though I was the main one who took advantage of the perk. Bebe was texting one of her friends probably and Christophe sent a message saying he and Damien would come by later. The customers who stayed to drink their coffee sat quietly either at the booths or tables by the windows. It wasn’t until an hour later that my parents called to come home. Apparently they wanted to have a talk in person so they said to finish early. I told Bebe and she said it was no problem since she could handle taking over the shop by herself for a while and not that many customers were here.

Outside the sky was turning a calming shade of lilac and the hums and quirks of the coffee machines filled the room, somehow managing to act as the sky’s nocturne and sedating everything under it in placid peace. The end of March could be cold, and looking outside the trees slightly swayed from the slight chilly breeze. I always preferred the cold weather; it was the perfect time for hot drinks (coffee), people weren’t irritable over the heat, and the weather was nicer since the snow usually looked nice against the colors of the sunset.

A vibration came from my back pocket, and checked to see a message from Damien saying they were on their way. About to tell Bebe I was going to leave, the door opened and in came a brown-haired boy in a letterman jacket followed by a tall guy in a blue hoodie and blue hat. When their attention turned to the counter where we were situated, I recognized the seemingly permanent smile of Clyde Donovan and neutral everything of Craig Tucker. _The_ Craig whose cooperation (or lack thereof) for the rest of the school year would count towards a grade.

“W-Welcome to Tweek Bros, can I take your order,” I tried to sound as unaffected by their presence, slight stutter that came out when nervous betraying me. They never came here and my brain tried to find a reason to justify their sudden interest in caffeine but all it would offer was _What if this is a prank and another one is filming from a secret angle_ or _What if this is some elaborate dream and when I wake up I’ll be passed out in the stairway leading up to my room,_ which the latter was followed by _Oh man I hope my unconscious body doesn’t fall down the stairs._

“Hey Tweek. Actually, we came to talk to you guys. Or to our partners to be more specific,” Clyde said and made his way to where Bebe was at the other end but not before nudging Craig and giving him an encouraging smile.

“Oh um, can I get you anything?” I offered him, noticing his eyes glancing over the set up of the preparation area, grey eyes passing through everything until they stopped in my direction.

“No thanks. Just here to clear things up. I was absent today,” he offers and I skeptically nod, unsure of what exactly it was he was getting at.

“Apparently we have to work on some project and I just wanted to say don’t worry about it.”

“E . . . excuse me?” Now I was confused.

“I’ll take care of it. I’d rather do it myself to be honest and I figured it’d also be doing you a favor.”

“What do you mean?” I search his face for answers but all I see is tanned skin, deep set eyes and notice small beauty marks scattered on his face. But nothing that explained what he meant. He had his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and was casually standing in front of me from the other side of the counter.

“Well since it’s allegedly worth a lot I’d rather do it on my own. That way we definitely get an A and you won’t have to worry over it,” he shrugs.

“What _exactly_ are you insinuating?” I could hear my voice slightly get higher and I gripped the counter; his gaze flickered to my hands. The knuckles were slightly bruised and there were a few band-aids covering small cuts from when I handled an x-acto knife a bit more clumsily than recommended.

“Are you seriously saying I’m not capable of doing the project?!”

He looked taken aback, but continued, “Well you’ve never been good with being under pressure, so this could help since you won’t have to freak out about not passing.”

I clenched my fists and suddenly my worry wasn’t for nothing; Craig really was an asshat. An asshat who clearly though of me as incompetent of completing a stupid project that wasn’t even that hard.

“First of all, you don’t know jack shit about me to be making accusations like that and secondly, _I_ should be the one offering to take on the assignment.”

“What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?” he followed suit and got defensive of being questioned on his own capabilities. At least that’s what it seemed since his brows knit together and voice lost it’s nasal flatness and became as tense and he could muster.

“Well, seeing I, for one, bothered to show up and _I_ know if _I_ do the stupid shit myself it’d definitely work in your favor and _you_ won’t have to worry about not passing.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“As serious as you are an asshole!”

“ _You_ don’t know jack shit either, fucking weirdo!”

“Don’t you _dare_ fucking call me shit you know squat about, you raging dickhole!”

“Oh really? ‘Cause I could fucking say the same about you, spaztic shit for brains! God, if I’d known you were going to be this much of a jackass I wouldn’t have bothered contacting you!” Our raised voices caught the ears of the customers and our respective friends who stopped talking to each other and were now gaping at us. I didn’t even care that we were making a scene; this fucker managed to tick me off more than I though a distant acquaintance could.

As our little spat had progressed, we moved a bit closer to each other, challenging the other while continuing to throw insults, the counter as a barrier stopping a possible fight from breaking out. With the height difference, I had to look up to his eyes in order to properly talk back (a fact which somehow fueled my anger more) and even though he was equally (probably less) as angry and I was, there was some confusion in his eyes as to what exactly was happening right now.

“Yeah well, you could’ve had _some_ iota of fucking human decency and not be a complete judgmental, insinuating, scrotum-smelling asswipe of a fucktard!” The next move from here on my part would have been to punch the ever-loving shit out of his annoyingly good-looking face, but I was done and decided to move away from behind the counter and march towards the door, leaving my apron on as I made my exit, but not before I looked up at the giraffe-sized assclown.

“I can’t believe I’m stuck with _you_ for the rest of the semester, you . . . you fucking . . . _colossal dickweed_!” Shoving myself through the door without bothering to look back, I made my way to a familiar looking car and shoved myself on the backseat, ordering the brunet behind the wheel to get the fuck out of here.


	2. I Bet You Look Good on the Dance Floor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1 has been edited, so check it out if you want. It's not completely different so it's not really necessary
> 
> Inspiration for the party comes from the "troye sivan - youth" music video so if you want a better visualization go watch it
> 
> After this i haven't really planned out things and i have an upcoming stats exam and other college things, but after that i'll be on spring break. as i've said, idk when updates will be and have no idea what i'm doing

Tracks:

White Reaper – Pills

Cherry Glazerr – Had Ten Dollaz

 

 

“Dude. What. The. Fuck.” I turn from the door and see Clyde walking towards me, Bebe following after from behind the counter.

“When I suggested coming over I mean so you can introduce yourself. For fuck’s sake, you guys used to be friends and you decide the first thing to do after all these years is to fight with him?! Jesus effing Christ, man. And you tell _me_ to think before I speak.” He places his hand on his forehead. His eyes were a bit wide in the surprise over the events that happened in few minutes since we entered the coffee shop.

“It wasn’t like I meant to say it like that. It’s not like this was how I planned things to go, Clyde,” I snap back at the shocked brunet. Ideally, he would’ve taken up my offer; we would’ve had minimal contact, not have to bother with trying to cooperate, and at the end just present the final products. Easy as pie, and beneficial for both parties. But that quickly turned to shit.

The blonde sneered at me. “Oh, so you didn’t plan on insulting and degrading him?! I don’t give a damn if you didn’t mean to, you better make this right or so help me, Tucker!”

“And how do you expect me to do that?” I turn my attention to her, now less pissed and mainly annoyed. “By the looks of what happened, I doubt the next time we see each other he’ll want to talk.” Tweek had become very pissed as we continued to ‘talk’ and was clearly itching to land a hit; he didn’t even bother taking off his work apron when he stormed off.

I sigh and rub my temples. _This is so fucked._

When we entered both light haired teens were behind the counter and the one I came for seemed like he was about to say something to his slightly taller friend. Both had matching hair clips keeping their hair out of their eyes, though it didn’t do much. His hair was messy in general and hers was very curly. They could’ve been confused as siblings, even though she was brown-eyed and curvy and he was thin and had hair much lighter than her darker blonde.

As Clyde had gone to talk to Bebe I had taken the time to see what goes on behind the scenes of a coffee shop. There were various machines that did who knows what for god knows what types of coffee; I’m more of a hot chocolate and tea kinda person so I don’t bother with coffee places. But the set up seemed pretty complex and there was an array of pastries that people bought along with their orders. It wasn’t until I was done seeing what was behind the counter that I turned my attention back to Tweek.

Puberty hadn’t blessed the blond, height-wise. He wasn’t extremely short, but definitely below the average height. _He’s definitely smaller than Kenny and Kyle and about the same height as Butters/Marjo,_ I had thought to myself when I saw him. He wore an oversized brown sweater under the green Tweak Bros. apron and the sleeves had been rolled midway through the forearms. He still looked as tired as he did back then; dark circles emphasizing large eyes that were probably hazel.

There was a boyish charm to him but as we had our first little meeting in over six years it was overpowered by thinking he was a little prick. Sure, both could exist at the same time but I prefer sticking to one impression for people I have no connection to, so little prick it was. The little dick thought I was some dimwit who couldn’t pull his own weight on the assignment.

 _Technically you started this. You thought the same things._ I knew it was true but I hadn’t expected him to call me out. What’s more, he even continued talking back. The petite blond definitely had an interesting vocabulary and was very expressive about his emotions, which towards me was mainly anger. He definitely made use of his arms and band-aid covered hands, clenching them in anger and keeping them tense on the counter the whole time. _Probably to control himself from throwing a punch._

Back then he was a borderline nervous wreck that could barely function, which was the version I though I was going to deal with. In my ignorant defense, he still seemed like he would be the same; messy hair, dark circles, and the band-aids added to my wrong preconception. But I was wrong and admit it wasn’t fair to think that way.

“Maybe I should just ask for a switch or something,” I sigh.

“You’d rather go trough the trouble of asking the teacher to work alone than work things out with Tweek? The person you used to be friends with and managed to insult in a span of five minutes?!” Bebe criticized.

“In case you didn’t hear the whole thing, I’m not completely at fault here. The little shit said some pretty colorful things to me too,” I try to argue.

“Yeah, _after_ you judged him based on how he used to be. In elementary!” She shoots me a look that blatantly says ‘are you stupid or what.’

 _She has a point. Dealing with teachers is a pain in the ass. And I_ was _an ass._

“My party next week. He’ll be there. You were probably already going but now you definitely have to and set things right,” she calmly tells me.

“Yeah, we were already planning on going,” Clyde chimes in.

“Okay, great. Then it’s settled.” She turns around towards the workstation, emphasizing that the conversation was over.

I just nod my head and take a better look at the café. It was pretty cozy looking, but a bit scatter-brained, probably like the owners. There were a couple of booths like in a diner by the windows, one on each side of the shop. Tables like regular coffee shops (that I’ve seen on tv) were on one side and there was a long couch and loveseat on the other side. But it somehow didn’t seem like they were out of place; it came together in an odd way.

“Yeah,” I say and head out the door, Clyde following behind me.

 

[ . . . ]

 

When I met up with Damien and Christophe after leaving the shop they quickly noted my frazzled state. And by frazzled I mean ‘anxious, almost pulling at my hair in a mix of annoyance and anger and clenching my fist repeatedly’ kind of state. Yeah, I know getting worked up over something like this is petty compared to how bad it could have been, but can’t say I give a damn. The project is in pairs, the asshat didn’t come to class, said asshat and I haven’t talked to each other since our voices dropped, and the ass _hat_ was a complete and total ass _hole_. Wait. Isn’t that the same thing? I don’t know. Point is, I am not the happy camper I was before all this bull.

After I got into the car, I ordered Christophe to take me home and neither him nor Damien in the passenger seat asked what’s wrong yet. Surprisingly, I managed to stay calm during the whole ride to my house. But I know I was still completely livid over that happened and the anger was just getting pent up, waiting to burst.

As Christophe pulled up to the curb and parked, we all got out and just stood in place by our car doors. I sat behind Christophe so he was standing besides me and Damien was on the other side of the car. Both looked at me and we just stood there, waiting to see who would be the one to speak first.

“What’s up your ass?” Damien quirks a brow and Christophe snorts. I shoot them both a look and we continue in silence for a few moments more. Replaying the events that happened not even half an hour ago, I could feel my body seething once more.

I couldn’t hold in my discontent so I ended up spouting, “This is bullshit, fucking hell, he’s such a self-serving dipshit! That fucking judgmental dick can go fuck himself! The educational school system can go suck it!” though it most likely all came out rushed and in one complete unintelligible sentence as I shouted it out to the empty street. It was pretty late in the evening and the sun was beginning to set so it was just the three of us outside; two calm and composed teens and a short enraged blond shouting his frustrations at the sky, fists clenched and raised in anger.

“Okay, twitchy. Ta gueule, calm down, and then speak,” Christophe says, looking entertained at my outburst. I didn’t twitch anymore, probably because of the ex Tweak family recipe coffee, so now it was just a nickname I would only let those close enough to me use. _Kinda regretting it right now._ My demi angry demi annoyed hybrid thingy was getting real close to including my friends in the mix.

“Frenchy’s right, though I did manage to get a bit of that masterpiece of a speech,” Damien sarcastically adds as he folds his arms over the roof of the car and leans his head on them in my direction, “it would be nice to know the context, or who the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Fuck you, demonic cocksucker.”

“Oh, how articulate,” the ruby-eyed teen fake swoons and I snigger, willing myself to calm down. I take a few deep breaths and exhale through my mouth until it’s certain the next time words come out they’re coherent.

“So? Talk,” Christophe turns his attention to me and I sigh. I didn’t want to come off as petty as I knew I was but there was no denying the blatant childishness behind my reaction to being paired with Craig for the rest of the semester. There was no reason behind why it was irksome to be with him, yet it was there. Logic had no ground in this, just pure unadulterated pissiness.

 _Wait. What the hell am I saying? Of course there’s a reason!_ I _was_ justified for my behavior, considering the jerk was obviously rude, even if he didn’t mean it. I mean, he must’ve known what he was saying or insinuating, right? There’s no way he could’ve not known what he was saying.

“I, uh . . . The history project. I have to do it,” I furrow my brows and continue, “with Craig. Craig Tucker.”

“The tall one with the hat?” Christophe asks.

“Yeah, him.”

“And? I don’t see the problem with this yet. With your lovely personality, I’d think things would be okay,” he gives me a crooked smirk and Damien suppresses a laugh by pressing his lips together. _These smartasses,_ I think to myself as I roll my eyes indignantly.

“Well, it’s going just fine and dandy,” I reply to my friends, sarcasm seamlessly rolling off my tongue. “I always feel like punching the shit out of a fellow classmate,” I add cheerfully with a sarcastic smile to accompany the hefty dose of sarcastic commentary.

“Well shit, what the fuck happened?” the ruby-eyed teen raises an eyebrow and the brunet mirrors the action.

Thinking of exactly where to start, I decided to just say what happened at the coffee shop when Clyde and Craig came in. I try to tell them what took place to the best of my ability without letting too many ‘that asshole’ this or ‘the fucktard’ that. Overall, I’d say I did a pretty good job and remained subjective for about, I don’t know, maybe sixty percent of the whole thing. Maybe seventy.

As I finished, the two just let it sink in and Christophe leaned against his door and let out a small whistle in surprise.

“No offense but if it comes to a fight you don’t stand a chance,” he finally says.

“He’s right. You might hold out for a while but he’ll end up beating your ass,” Damian agrees matter-or-factly.

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence you guys. It’s soo reassuring knowing you have my back,” I give them a less than enthused thumbs up.

“If it’s that big a deal you could always just switch partners. Or ask to work alone,” Damien says as he rolls his eyes.

 _That_ does _seem like a great idea._ But that would mean letting him win on some level, and I was _not_ about to lose this battle.

“Can I just ask a god out there to smite him?” I ask the guys.

“Why would you ask that cocksucking asshole for help?” Christophe furrows his brows in distaste.

“It doesn’t have to be him. Maybe Zeus could help.”

“At least the Greeks didn’t hide being cocksucking assholes. Much more tolerable than that bitch God,” he bluntly states.

It would be a lie if I said Christophe’s anti-god views didn’t make me nervous. I mean, nothing bad’s ever happened but what if one day he is stricken down for that? Jesus used to live here and the antichrist is one of my best friends, hell (pun intended), I even had coffee with Satan a few months ago when he came for the rare visit to the ‘mortal realm,’ so God had to be real right? If he was, then are other gods real too? Damien talked about this with me a couple years ago but right now I was drawing a blank. But I had to agree with Christophe; at least the Greek gods seemed as fucked up as we did.

Thinking about Satan _,_ I turn to the red-eyed boy. “Or your dad? Pretty sure he’d help me out,” I give him a pleading look.

“Nope. You’re on your own, kid,” he answers, not even considering helping out one of his closest friends, that heartless bastard.

“But why?” I whine.

“It is quite a pickle, but you’re on your own, coffee bean,” he smirks.

 _It’s not like I was serious. Mostly._ Sure, I was pretty fucking ticked off but had it reached first-degree, cold-blooded murder? Nope. But wishful thinking I guess, even if it was just a distant thought.

“Well, can you at least tell me something about him? Don’t you guys do background checks on people?” Maybe there’s some information I can use about him, maybe blackmail? But then again I’m not exactly cut out for that sort of thing. There’s too much pressure and things could go wrong. There was a chance there could be a dead body involved if it turns to that. Even of the probability was minute.

“Nope. Well, yes, but not everyone,” Damien says. “Only those that come close to us, like teachers and students. Take Bebe for example, back when she started getting close to us,” he says as if it’s something everyone does and isn’t odd at all.

“Donnie Darko’s right,” Christophe adds and smiles, “there’s some pretty interesting shit about people too. Especially with some of the teachers,” he laughs. Okay, I _don’t_ want to know what that’s about; his interesting and my interesting aren’t always the same and if I found out I’d never look at the teachers the same way again.

“Why? You going to stalk him? Is this a new obsession? Romance maybe? Bebe _did_ mention the whole romance thing. Maybe this is your shitty version of an epic love,” Damien jokes.

“What the fuck, man,” I give him a stunned look. No way in hell was this _anything_ like that. Nope, not even in the same plane of existence were any of what I was feeling towards the jerk anything resembling romance. _Definitely_ not love at first sight. Maybe hate? Nah. But pretty close once he opened his mouth.

“Pretty sure Romeo nor Juliet wanted to beat the other one up,” I cock my head and give him a pointed stare.

“Probably. But then again their story was love at first sight and it caused many deaths, so definitely not the appropriate comparison. Maybe if it was more like Achilles and Patroclus. They’re gay, so this fits better,” he raises his eyebrow and gives me a sly smile.

“They _both_ die too. I don’t think there’s _any_ story that could fit into this point in time for my situation. Definitely not a good idea to use literary tragedies to make comparisons, y’know,” I laugh.

“Though if I had to choose I’d go for Medea. At least she gets to murder her husband and get away with it. And ride off on a dragon.” _But then again, dragons even safe to ride? Does their fire burn people or can it choose not to? Can they be domesticated?_

“Yeah but you’re too much of a pussy for murder,” Christophe adds, breaking my thoughts away from mythical reptiles. _Or are they cryptids like the Loch Ness monster? Hmm._

Looking at him, I roll my eyes. “Keep talking and we’ll see,” I add and we laugh.

Reaching around my back to untie and take off the apron I just remembered I still had on, I lean against the car and sigh. The darkened sky above made everything seem so deceivingly uneventful. _What a day, man._

I turn to look at the guys and it hits me in this moment that I’m grateful to have these sarcastic little shits who can easily bring my mood back. But I was still angry inside at still being judged for who I used to be. Maybe part of that anger was also because the one who did it used to be someone I once called a friend, especially since that someone was also generally not one to be so disparaging towards others, at least when I still knew him.

“Thanks,” I tell them and they nod, not needing to say anything more in this moment.

. . .

I wish I could say the rest of spring break served as a cool down time for the little spat between the dipstick and I, but I’d be lying. Okay, not really. My anger turned into annoyance, but I’d say that was an improvement. I no longer felt like bashing his face in (I’m exaggerating, it was more like punching him once with gusto) but that didn’t mean I wanted to be civil. I’ve decided on staying partners but just refusing to talk to him if it could be helped. If we needed to cooperate then I’d do it, but that was the extent of my willingness to put up with him. I refuse to give up and ask for a different partner or to work alone, that’s what he’s probably expecting and I refuse to give him the satisfaction. As I’ve said before, I can be petty, but I think this is pretty reasonable.

The evening of the party Christophe picked me up, Damien already in the passenger seat, and we made our way to Bebe’s a bit early to see if she needed help. We texted her beforehand and when we reached the door and rung the bell, she opened quickly and let us into a four person hug. She was dressed in a nice red velvet dress with black flats and had her hair in a waterfall braid. As for us, Damien changed out his usual thick black turtleneck for a black button down and Christophe was in his usual brown pants and dark t-shirt but added a clean jacket. I was in black pants and olive button down. We weren’t exactly formal but more business casual? Semiformal?? I don’t know.

We spent the time before the party helping her set up the drinks, food, and lights. Bebe usually likes to switch out the light bulbs for colored ones when she throws parties; this time’s it was lavender. She went out of her way and set up fairy lights along the walls, white lights twinkling against the lavender that bathed the insides. It looked similar to her room and that made the whole ambience calming, since it reflected part of her soothing personality.

Since there wasn’t much to do, we spent the remainder of the time hanging out on the couch before people started to show up. It was odd, seeing the set up of a party sans the crowd. It was sort of like a post-apocalyptic scene, or one of those weird foreign films without sound and we were at the center of it all. It certainly had the feel of it, what with the whole colored lighting and all.

The lavender from the lights brought out the paleness of Damien’s skin color and red irises while to Christophe it softened the natural roughness of his exterior. The light purple complemented Bebe’s face and softened her features even more, even drawing out the pure brown of her eyes. I wish I had a camera to capture the scenery and effects of the artificial light but I didn’t so I tried to commit as much as possible to memory to later try to draw.

At around nine-ish people started showing up and by ten it was packed with people. As the party progressed, people drifted away from the main areas, which were the living room and kitchen, onto the backyard as well. But we chose to stay in the living room, but drifted towards the wall adjacent to the staircase, mainly obscured from people except those who were nearby or across the table with the food and drinks. I don’t really know how she got the alcohol for the party, but since it’s South Park it wouldn’t be surprising if there wasn’t a need to use a fake I.D.

Bebe had gone off to talk to her friends for a while, the last time I saw her she was talking to Wendy/l on the stairs leading to the upper floor. I greeted them from afar, choosing not to disturb their talk, and took in the change from a few hours ago when it was just us.

I recognized most of the people there from school, many that I was on okay terms and others that I was friends with, though not as close to as Damien, Christophe, and Bebe. If it weren’t for the fact that Bebe’s parties are more like a big chill hangout with a bunch of other people, I would be a bit more anxious. Which is probably why whenever I do go to one of Token’s parties I don’t stick around for long. They can be pretty notorious for getting kinda crazy, which I don’t feel all that comfortable with. But in a setting like this it was pretty nice.

Eventually, when I saw Kyle at the party I went over and greeted him. We made small talk, mainly just catching up and talking about things we have an interest in until Stan arrived and they went off together. It was nice, getting to talk to him here and seeing him happy with Stan, who he talked about with me before so knowing things worked out for them was good to hear. _If only Bebe would square up and talk things out with Wendy/l like Kyle did with Stan. That would be even better,_ I think to myself. Admittedly, I don’t understand the whole thing about what they went through, but it seems ridiculous, especially when two people _clearly_ want to be together, yet chose not to (Bebe). But whatever, I really don’t know, so leaving it at that, I just make my way back to Christophe and Damien.

We stood in an area where the stereo system was near us, so if we wanted to talk to each other we would have to be loud or lean into each other. _What if the sound goes off and you’re left talking loudly and embarrass yourself? No thanks_. So we decided to just lean into each other, which was a bit of effort since they were half a foot taller than me and had to lean down as I stood a bit on my toes.

We mainly talked about nothing and made plans to later smoke. At first I didn’t want to go near marijuana, considering my predisposition to addictive substances. During my recovery I researched other type of drugs and found there was a slight chance of becoming addicted to weed, so I was wary of it. But after a while I decided to try it and make sure I know my limits. Plus, it helps that we mainly just share so it doesn’t affect us. _Most of the time._

Remembering the small incident that happened at a party a while back and grinning, I decide to tell the guys. Long story short, we smoked a bit more than usual and somehow ended up in park, where Damien had the _brilliant_ idea to perform a less than sober rendition of ‘do you hear the people sing.’ The asshole filmed us, and of course we were enough out of it that we agreed, which was a bad idea. The video still exists but thankfully is kept just between us and Bebe, and will remain that way. Definitely never again.

As we continued talking about that night and laughing about it, I felt a pair of eyes on me.

I turned my head and saw Craig, Token, and Clyde hanging out by the refreshment area, talking to each other. He was dressed in black pants and dark hoodie over a grey t-shirt that I think had a logo on the breast pocket but couldn’t make out what it was. He still wore a hat that I swear was different from the one he was wearing last week but looked pretty similar to it. _How many does this douche have?_ I think to myself as I stare back at him.

I would be lying if I said he wasn’t attractive; he was tall, had a nice jawline and cheekbones, and his natural tanned skin complemented his grey eyes and dark hair that poked out of his hat. He had the appearance that could rival Apollo but the personality of a turd.

Finally breaking eye contact, I turned my head away from him and walked away, pulling Damien and Christophe by the forearms to follow. The goal for the night was to have fun with my friends, avoid Craig, and play our game once we decided on a target after the party.

 

[ . . . ]

 

When Token, Clyde, and I arrived at Bebe’s, she shot me an annoyed look and rolled her eyes. Clearly she was still cross at what happened last week, but still let us in. “You better apologize to Tweek, Tucker.”

Now it was my turn to roll my eyes at the blonde. Looking around, I saw that it was pretty packed; there were a lot of people from school who came, though I mainly recognized a bit less than half. They probably did all go to school with us but I just haven’t acknowledged them before or cared enough to memorize their faces, much less their names. People from North Park could have been here too; they definitely come when Token throws parties at his house, but who exactly was here that didn’t belong I wasn’t sure of.

 _Does Tweek really come to these things?_ Bebe said he would be here but I never really paid attention to him, regardless of our past relationship. He _was_ short enough that we could’ve passed each other at a party and not recognized him, so there was a chance he often frequented parties. I would’ve though he wouldn’t set foot at parties often, but as he, Bebe, and even Token and Clyde have said, I don’t know shit about him. _I should probably stop coming to conclusions about him based on his past._ Hell, he didn’t really seem the same as he was back in elementary, but then again who does? It probably was all that coffee and meth that always affected him negatively back then.

We made our way to the refreshments table and Token and Clyde turned to me. _Oh no._

“You _are_ going to settle this right?” Token asks me. Clyde had told him about Tweek and I’s little showdown at the coffee shop this week and he came to the same conclusion everyone had, that I was a dick. Can’t blame them though, it was true.

“The _right_ way, not like last time,” Clyde adds.

“Yes, mom and dad. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not a complete asshole,” I tell them.

“We know, but not everyone knows. Plus you’re too crass a lot of the time, so yeah, you can come off as an ass. After all these years we’ve known you, dude, if there’s one thing you need to take my word on, it’s that,” Token tells me as he pats my back.

“Wait, who’s mom and who’s dad?” Clyde turns to me, genuinely taking the comment to heart.

“Token’s mom and you’re dad,” I grin at them.

“Why do I get to be the mom?” Token knots his brows in a mix of confusion and distaste.

“Because you genuinely give a shit. Clyde gives a shit in a detached way. An I,” I place my hand on my chest for emphasis, “give no shit.”

“Bullshit,” Token says. “The things you give a shit about are just less than ours.”

“Yeah, James Dean. Calm the fuck down,” Clyde gives a Cheshire-like smile.

I flip them both off, one hand for each face, and they go off and start talking about other things I don’t bother to keep paying attention to; it was instead pulled to the other side of the living room. My eyes go past the crowd when I notice the vexing small source of anger with two taller teens by his side. _Christophe and Damien_ , I realize. How the hell did that happen?

They’re closer to the stereo system that’s blaring out music and are leaning into each other to talk better, the taller boys have to bend down a bit as the short blond gets on his tip toes when they’re speaking to each other.

Looking at him was like an odd déjà vu. He was wearing a green button down like he always did back when we were kids, but looking at him now and comparing to him back then was like looking into a distorted version of what he used to be, or what I though would continue to be. He didn’t belong to the image of his younger self and under the artificial coloring that enveloped the room he didn’t quite belong here either.

The light purple from the lights brought out his features, the most striking were his facial features. Tweek had large eyes that I’m sure _are_ hazel that were always emphasized by the discoloration under his eyes and even more by the colored light. He had an upturned nose, and full lips that looked like they got bitten often. A close second to the accentuated eyes and facial features was how light haired he was; it was borderline white and the purple from the light bulbs seems to dye it in a faded wash of purple. Overall, his features were already striking on their own and the added effects of the lighting made him look otherworldly.

He seemed to notice my gaze halfway through my observation and stared back for a while until he broke our eye contact and dragged his friends away with him.

 _Well, he’s still remembers_ , I think to myself. Guess I can rule out having a shitty memory to the small list of things I _do_ know about him.

When the small blond led his friends away from the living room and into the backyard, I just went back to hanging out with Token and Clyde. _It’s not like it needs to be right_ now. There’ll be other opportunities to get to talk to him as the night goes on so might as well relax for a while. Besides, when I do decide to track him down I can just find him by looking for two taller dark-haired guys with a smaller platinum haired one.

“Hey Craigy boy.” I turn to see a grinning Kenny. He’s most known for his good looks around town; slightly below average height, honey blonde hair, freckles and light blue eyes gave him a country boy kind of look and was the object of a lot of people’s interest. That is, until recently when he _finally_ got together with the shorter lighter haired blond who was by his side.

“Kenneth,” I tell him back.

“Hey fellas,” Butters tell us with a small wave. Kenny had one arm around Butters and the other holding a drink.

“Hey Butters,” we tell him. He decided to come as himself rather than herself, and was looking pretty relaxed being by the side of his now boyfriend.

“So you finally got your shit together I see,” I gesture to the arm around Butters.

“Oh yeah you weren’t there huh,” Kenny saws with a crooked smirk, looking sideways at his boyfriend.

“Nope, he was too busy with his tongue down his telescope’s nonexistent throat,” Clyde replies.

“ _Clyde,_ ” Token sternly tells him.

“Sorry, _mom,_ ” he says with a laugh, remembering the conversation from earlier.

We stay like this for a while until Kenny and Butters go somewhere, probably to make out. Around the house, the mix of colored lights and music made the party not as wild, probably due to the calming effects of purple. Jimmy was in the kitchen when I saw him and we would’ve gone over to hang out with him but we saw he was talking Leslie’s ear off in kitchen. Glancing around, people were manly dancing, talking, or trying to get together. I even saw Red and Thomas sitting close to each other on the couch and talking.

 _Is this really the pinnacle of adolescence? Hooking up?_ Not that there was anything wrong with it, hell I’ve hooked up with a couple people but seeing this kind of environment made it seem like getting together with someone was the main goal. Am I cynical? _No, just exaggerating_. I don’t know, it seems like being with someone you genuinely care for is nice, looking at Butters and Kenny and even just the way Kevin and Clyde look at each other, even though they keep dancing around the damn topic of getting together.

Breaking my thoughts, I look to my left. Token, Clyde and I separated after a while to talk to other people and I was mainly just walking around now, avoiding the dancing area in the center of the living room, until I got to where I was, by the door leading to the backyard. Looking out the door, my eyes immediately catch the image of Tweek.

He was on the other side of the yard near the fence with Christophe and Damien, passing what looked like a blunt. _Is that a good idea?_ But then again marijuana isn’t addictive like other drugs and he _was_ sharing with his friends, so it probably wasn’t a lot that he was taking in.

He suddenly looks up and over in my direction, catching my eyes. He then again ignores me and walks away. Damien and Christophe look over the direction their friend was before walking away and catch me looking their way. They probably definitely knew of our little meeting, but when they looked at me, they just turn to each other and smirk. Looking over at my direction again, they give a small salute before leaving the same way Tweek did.

 _Well, shit’s still the same._ It’s not like he was suddenly going to have a change of heart, but I mean, stranger things have happened. Deciding to stall a bit more, I go back to where Token was hanging out with Kyle and Stan.

When I finally _do_ decide to stop dicking around and actively look for the guy, I finally succeed in finding him by the front yard near the group of people playing suck and blow, except it was more like they were making out. _That’s probably the point, but whatever._ He was still with Damien and Christophe, and it seemed like they must have told him they had the world’s most expensive coffee beans by the way his face broke into a huge smile, revealing small dimples, and gave out a cheerful looking laugh.

 _It’s now or never,_ I tell myself as I head over to talking to him, but before I get near him, they start walking towards a black car parked by front of the house. They’re still laughing and generally excited as they get in, Damien on the passenger seat, Christophe behind the wheel and Tweek, the person that was making me go through all this effort for nothing, on the backseat. I just stay there as they start the car and drive off, away from the party and the chance to set thing straight.

. . .

After the blond and his friends left the party, it didn’t take long before I decided to bail as well. Since Token and Clyde were too busy playing a drunken version of duck, duck, goose with other partygoers at the backyard of the Stevens house, I just decided to walk home. I sent Token a message saying this – there was already an agreement that Kyle would be the designated driver today – and I left the purple illuminated insides of the house.

It was already about one a.m. or something so the streets were empty and the spaced out streetlights were the only light out; all the houses were completely dark. The air was cold enough that there was some fog and I could slightly see my breath if I exhaled through my mouth, but it wasn’t unbearable. Walking through South Park wasn’t really a special experience but at night the skies were clear and the night sky was visible, even with the fluorescent lights that lit the streets.

 _The lack of light pollution is one of the only upsides of this messed up town,_ I think to myself as I alternate between looking where I walk and looking up at the stars. I try to make out any constellations or locations of where certain planets were supposed to be with a naked eye.

I don’t really know what it is about space that makes it so fascinating. Most people find the basics to be interesting like black holes or stars and constellations, but the whole science behind everything is appealing to me. Knowing that there’s countless stars out there, some the size of our sun or bigger, that are constantly going through their own version of the life cycle, or that there’s tons of galaxies and planets puts a whole different perspective on everything. There’s something reassuring behind our cosmic indifference.

I take one last look at the stars as I arrive to my house and head inside, past the living room, up the stairs and into my room. Deciding to just lay in bed for a while, I stay in my clothes and just take out whatever crap was in my pockets and place them on the nightstand as I plop onto the mattress to stare at my less than accurate version of the stars on the ceiling.

The mix of the walk and the party left me wide awake, but I was too tired to take out the telescope and hop on the roof, so I just laid in bed and stared at the glow in the dark stars whose light became more brighter the more I stared at them in the dark.

Lying in bed like this felt a bit surreal in an average way. There was nearly complete silence except for my heartbeat and the only light came from the stars overhead and from the streetlights and moon outside. It was very peaceful, this near vacuum-like ambience. But I still missed the sounds my palm-sized friend, especially at nights like this when there was silence, not even his breathing to keep me company.

I had Stripe when I was a kid. The length of the time I had him was almost the same as the time I’ve known Clyde and Token, so his passing had been heartbreaking. But I knew he was happy and so was I, so although I still mourned his death at times, it wasn’t as sad as it had been. He was buried in our backyard and was given a small service. My parents knew how much he meant to me so they were there, Ruby even bought white anemonies, white flowers with a black center that looked like a spot just like Stripe. His fur was mainly white and had a big spot on his back, but I chose to name him Stripe, which he had none of. Token and Clyde came over too that day; though they teased me about my unhealthy attachment to my guinea friend, they still loved him too, so it was not just them being good friends.

I wondered if they were still at the party or if Kyle had dragged their asses home, along with whoever else was supposed to get a ride. I reached over to grab my phone and sent them a quick message just in case. They weren’t wasted when I last saw them; the party was pretty tame, or at least as tame as it could get with a house full of teenagers.

 _Ugh, the party._ The whole point, or at least a big part of, going to the party was to patch things up with Tweek, but that didn’t turn out so well. I wouldn’t have pegged him for being this grudgeful, but I guess I see where he’s coming from. But still. He even dragged his friends away with him whenever he saw me, obviously ignoring and unwilling to talk yet.

I was still a bit confused about how Christophe and Damien started hanging out with the small blond. They spent the whole time smiling and laughing, when they weren’t avoiding me. _Or at least Tweek was, and was dragging them with him._ He didn’t seem nervous at all when with them and in an odd way it seemed natural, their closeness. He was obviously happy when hanging out with them.

As my thoughts continued going to the blond, I heard a noise coming from outside. _It’s two a.m., who the fuck is up?_ My parents and Ruby were asleep when I came in and I doubt the neighbors have taken up night gardening, so I stayed still in bed, trying to listen and see if I could hear what was going on.

My bedroom window was right by the front yard, so I could hear well. There was a mechanical hum that sounded like a car was on and just waiting. _It can’t be burglars, can it?_ There haven’t been any burglaries on the news; the biggest crimes that happen in this town are drunk fights and someone once dug a big ass hole by starks pond a year ago. It was on the news for a few days and the person, or people, who dug it were never found. Some people think it was a new form of crop circles, which was stupid, and that it was going to be a new trend with teenagers but nothing like that has happened since.

 _If it’s not robbers, could it be the same people from last year? No one’s digging a hole in my front yard right?_ The thought of the same thing happening on our front yard was ridiculous, but as I was dismissing the thought, I heard a door to a car close and walking coming towards the house. The person was trying to walk as quietly as possible but with the complete silence in the house and out on the streets, it was pretty easy to make out the sound of footsteps along the grass.

There was muffled laughing and I shot up in bed. _It could be a prank. Shit, if someone’s tp’ing my house I’m gonna kick their ass. That shit’s hard to clean up._ I made my way across the room and turned on the light. There was a small cry at being caught, so I dashed out of the room and outside, intent on catching the pranksters.

As I was opening the door I heard whispered curses and running and then a car door open and close. The car made a screech as the driver pressed on the gas pedal and was already driving away quickly. Running halfway across the lawn to look at the nearly deserted street, I couldn’t make out the color or make of the car, just that it was dark and the people inside were laughing hysterically (there were at least two judging by the different laughter), not caring anymore about getting caught or being quiet.

Seeing as how I couldn’t see who the hell was outside my house in the middle of the night, I turned away from the street to look at the house. There was no damage and the person didn’t drop anything like toilet paper or eggs, so it couldn’t have been a prank. Deciding to let it go, I made my way back to the front door when out the corner of my eye I saw a small shape near the bushes.

Heading towards the suspicious object, it seemed to be in the shape of a short bloated humanesque figure. Reaching down and picking it up, I saw that it was a garden gnome; the ones stereotypical suburban white people put up on their lawns for who knows what reason because they definitely weren’t cute.

Except, the gnome in my hands was nothing like the standard ones. The thing itself had its thumb sticking up and neutral expression but it was painted all over and not meant to resemble anything close to the Hallmark version. This particular gnome had its skin painted green, eyes completely black, beard painted pastel purple, and the outfit made to look like a spacesuit.

Taking a closer look at the gnome, I saw writing on the left breast of the suit made to look like a patch. Tilting the gnome closed to the light, I saw the words painted on; ‘Col. Dickwad.’

Not sure what to make of this or why someone chose to leave _this_ on my yard, I whisper an appropriately confused, “ _What the fuck._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me @ tweek and craig checking each other out: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> is this making any sense? at all?? are the characters believable? are they too flat?? idk man it feels off maybe but i'm not sure. :I


	3. Condoms & Make-ups

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ch 2 songs are good, just saying...
> 
> feels jam: okay, so the reason i haven't updated is i don't like the past chapters that much and have felt bad about my writing. i took a break that was supposed to last a couple weeks but that was a lie and it's been hard getting back to writing. plus i've also taken to reading davekat fanfics (i've never read homestuck and idk why i'm reading fanfics on it). but here i am and i want to go through with what i had in mind so yeah
> 
> about the fic: there will be 8 or 9 chapters and they will be as long as i think is okay. my main problem was writing extra unnecessary info and trying to keep the work count high (ch1 was 9k and ch2 was 7k and this is almost 5k, so a bit of a difference) so some chapters will be pretty short. there's going to be deep talks about what they went through later on before they get together at the end and there will be some time skips. when they get together it will be the end of summer, so that's why i refer to this as "slow burn." 
> 
> this chap has mentions of a mini almost panic attack and mentions a bit of the drug withdrawal (will be more in depth later on) just in case some of you need a heads up

Tracks:

Surf Curse – Freaks

Two Door Cinema Club – Something Good Can Work

 

 

“Do I have to do this?” I ask in a lowered voice, clutching at my shirt. _Why are we here? Oh God what if someone tries to come to us and ask for assistance?!_ Three teenage boys in a grocery store hanging out by the condom aisle seems pretty fucking odd enough to warrant some questioning. Nervously checking every direction to make sure no one is around the aisle, I look back to the source of my distress.

“This is the punishment, man up, con” Christophe says as he holds up a pack of condoms on one hand and Damien, who somehow managed to fit in a shopping cart, holds up the cucumber with both hands, like if it were some holy object. Or in this case, a damned object.

 _Well, shit._ This has gone completely pear-shaped. If I’d known we were going to do _this_ then I would’ve liked to have some time to prepare before psyching myself out. But goddammit these guys just fucking tore off the band-aid and now I have to go along with it.

Facing the rows of different types of condoms, I casually glance them over and try to see if this is actually some kind of weird dream. Like one second I’m here with Christophe and Damien but the next a gigantic flood of coffee is going to come gushing down the aisles or a clown is going to turn up in the corner of the aisle. _Goddamn fucking clowns._ I shudder slightly.

But alas, it’s not. I’m still here; the fluorescent lighting and casual noise of shopping carts being pushed along the floor on other sides of the store and smell of recently mopped floors are all real. Which means it’s very real that I’m getting dared to buy a box of condoms and goddamn cucumber from our local grocery store.

I turn back to them. “Ngh. I mean, I get it. I got caught dumping the damn gnome on the Tucker front yard. But why _this_ ,” I gesture to the offending objects in their hands. I knew the rules of our game if we got caught meant carrying out a dare, but I never would’ve thought this was in store when we drove over this afternoon.

But then again it wasn’t like I didn’t know what not to expect. I mean, yeah nobody really knows what they’re going to be dared to do but with friends like I have to say it’s a surprise would be a big understatement. Their ideas range from going out and loitering at my parent’s coffee shop to conducting a séance on Hallow’s Eve. The latter happened for about a minute until I bolted out of Christophe’s dining room and never again will I let Damien suggest ‘friendly fun’ activities (but I blame myself too for not being too suspicious).

I’m really glad I don’t drink so I didn’t have to deal with a hangover in the morning, plus alcohol and meds aren’t supposed to mix and I’m not taking any chances. The first and only time I’ve actually been hungover felt like if a nightmare and rollercoaster had a baby; it was complete and utter shit and overall not a pretty sight. But yeah, I wish I could say it was surprising having Damien and Christophe suddenly barging in my room – they literally pushed the door open so fast I almost had a heart attack – and dragging me out and into Chris’ car this afternoon. But it’s happened too many times to count. They just came in and tugged me by the shirt out of the house; I barely had a chance to close my laptop before being pulled out my room.

Although they didn’t really say anything, I knew we were going wherever to do whatever for my punishment for being “caught.” Technically I wasn’t really caught but then again none of us have been. We’ve only come close enough to see lights turning on before making our escape.

It’s not like we go off and place altered lawn gnomes onto people’s front yards that often, it’s mainly after parties. Christophe’s better at it, but since being a mercenary helps it’s not that big of a surprise, and Damien’s not allowed to use his powers but at least he’s better than I am. Cutting to the main point, I suck and have been almost caught more than they have, which is amusement for them in itself.

Which bring us back to the present. With a sigh, I turn back to the rows of condoms. _Why do they all look so serious?_ The packaging for practically all is black or very dark and so minimalistic. Many of them promise things like extra lubrication or ultra sensation and it reminds me of the same type of marketing used for medicine. _God, this is so weird and awkward and embarassing_.

From the corner of my eye I can see them look at each other so I turn to them to see them smirking. _Oh no._ That’s not good. Why are they smirking at each other, shit’s never good if you’re on the receiving end of their smirks. It’d a bad omen, like if you’re suddenly about to be dragged into a sketchy idea of bonding or about to be somehow making a complete fool of yourself, which in my experience being friends with these guys is very much true and go hand in hand. And how right I am, considering the situation now.

This in mind, I try to think of why they would smirk now, I mean the dare is pretty funny but I have a feeling there’s more to it, until it clicks and I gasp. “You planned this. When, w-why?! Wait, is this because of _your_ dares?”

“I didn’t need to know one of three thing is to be ‘unconditionally and irrevocably’ in love with a fucking bloodsucker,” Christophe states with a disgusted face.

“And I certainly didn’t need to know what the fuck a ‘chocolate starfish’ was,” Damien adds in with an equally as disgusted expression on his face, but more intense because of his red eyes.

“That wasn’t even _my_ idea! He,” I motion to Christophe, “was the one who came up with yours!” I tell the red-eyed teen, who just leans back and drops his arms on the sides of the cart, clearly amused. “I just agreed! Wait. This was your idea, wasn’t it?” I turn to face francophone with what I’m pretty sure is an accusing glare. “Did you plan this from way back then?! Is this why _you_ went along with the same-ish dare?!” I tell Damien.

“Those dares were nothing compared to _this!_ Sabotage!”

Their grins at my revelation confirm my thoughts. _These assholes._ “You asses were in on this together,” I tell them and it’s more of a statement of fact than a question.

In a small voice, completely serious I whisper, “Beware the ides of March.”

“It’s April,” Christophe says.

“Whatever, you get the idea.”

“Yeah. Now shut up and do it,” Damien says.

“But does it _have_ to be a family owned grocery? Couldn’t we go to Wal-Mart or something?” At least in a bigger store there’s less of a chance of being recognized. And less of a chance of dying from the embarrassment.

“Nope. And you have to either choose an elderly lady or someone our age as cashier,” Christophe adds and Damian nods, both grinning.

“But what is someone we know sees me?! Oh god what if they think I’m some pervert?! W-What if they call the police?! I can’t go to jail, man!”

Starting it’s weird spiral into unreasonable panic, I think of other situations that could go wrong. Oh God, what if I get locked up for the gnome thing too? Isn’t that some kind of felony? Isn’t it seen as some kind of harassment or trespassing? What if Craig knows it’s me, I even fucking signed the damn thing similar to one of the stupid insults I threw at him, I think. Do astronauts even have classifications?! Are there even Colonels in space stations? Why did I sign it with “Col. Dickwad” in the first place?! Holy crap, he probably _does_ know it was me. Why the fuck did I do that it’s so obvious it’s me, now I’m gonna be sued or thrown in jail, I can’t handle that!

In the back of my mind I register the force on my forearms and though I know it’s what happens whenever I begin to panic, I don’t register it enough to stop. That is, until I feel a sudden forceful flicking on my forehead and I snap back to reality.

Christophe is standing in front of me and looking at me with subtle worry, which Damien copies from his place in the cart. They do this when a panic attack is underway and it surprisingly works, at least sometimes. _Sorcery_.

“Breathe,” Christophe tells me and I nod erratically but still he at least knows I heard him.

I close my eyes and take deep breaths. I take deep breaths to calm myself and try finding my center, which my childhood psychiatrist Dr. Norris suggested all those years ago and still works.

Who knows how many moments passed before I opened my eyes again to see them staring at me.

Because all three of us aren’t as vocal, we learned to communicate through facial cues, reading the subtle changes in facial features and learning what we were thinking and trying to say. It’s a way to communicate without having to communicate.

The subtle furrow between Christophe’s dark eyebrows and Damien’s slightly narrowed eyes are asking if it’s okay now and I nod.

“You know you don’t really have to do this,” Damien says after a while, knees drawn up in the basket of the shopping cart.

“We can chose something else,” Christophe adds in and Damien nods.

“Y-Yeah, I know.” I take a deep breath. I didn’t want to back down tough. It wasn’t that bad so I compose myself and muster as much courage as I can.

“Fuck it, let’s do this.” I grab the items off their hands and march off to the front of the store into the checkout area.

Leaving the store, I finally break down in a huge sigh of relief while the guys break out in laughter. I shove the pack of condoms and cucumber to Damien, not wanting to be anywhere near them anymore. But at least I can finally say I scarred a poor old lady, not that it’s an accomplishment to be too proud of.

“Oh putain, did you see her face?” Christophe asks through his boisterous laughter.

“It’s not that funny!” I punch his arm to get him to stop, but it doesn’t work.

“It was pretty hilarious from our end,” Damien adds and I give his arm a punch as well.

“She looked like you took a shit in front of her,” Christophe muses like if he’s remembering a fond memory.

 _Oh God, now I can’t come here anymore._ They’re right; she was so mortified but was still trying to be as nice as possible as she rang the items up. Her asking if I wanted a bag almost made me break. Jesus Christ, at least that’s over.

From besides me, Damien lights the cucumber on fire and drops it on the patch of grass near the front of the store.

“Shouldn’t you throw that away?” I ask.

“Nutrition for the plant life,” he tries to reason.

“Is there any nutritional value in charcoal?” I counter but he just shrugs.

We head back to the car and I flop down on the backseat, feeling drained. I close eyes and without a sense of sight, my sense of smell compensates. Christophe’s car has a mixture of lingering cigarette, coffee, and dirt. But the kind of dirt that reminds me of walks through the forest and the calming down to earth smell after it rains. Overall, it’s a weird kind of comfort inside the car, much like the two bodies in the front seats.

“You okay there, shortstack?” Christope asks, looking at me from the rearview mirror.

“Yeah,” I say but it sounds more like a question and I lean back on the seat, gnawing on my lips.

“Bullshit,” Damien says.

“No? Well, not much, it’s not a big deal,” I confess.

“It’s not about the Tucker kid still right?” he quirks a brow and turns so he can face me as much as he can from the passenger seat.

“What? No, it’s not that” I promise, and it’s true. This whole spring break and the little ‘payback’ or whatever you call it served as a pretty good closure to the issue. I mean, I’m not exactly jumping at the chance to talk to him but it feels like things are back where the started, feeling passive about him. At least on my part.

“Then what pissed in your coffee?” Christophe asks.

Debating whether to spill the beans for a while, I decide to tell them. Anyway, it’s not like they don’t already know the deal with my relationship between my parents.

“My parents going to start leaving on short trips starting at the end of the school year. They’re going through with opening another shop,” I tell them and Christophe also turns in his seat to better face the backseat.

The car becomes full with the pregnant silence; none of us say anything.

“Burying them alive won’t be a problem, just say the word and it’ll be done faster than you can say ‘God is a cocksucking cunt,’” Christophe says from behind the wheel.

I choose not to dwell on that; knowing Christophe it’s highly possible burying people alive is a special talent and I don’t feel like asking if he’s serious, but it’s still likely since he likes to dig things. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out he has gold buried somewhere; he has a knack for burying stuff. He once got pissed at me and buried my favorite thermos and art supplies and had to convince him to dig it back up but it took days to do so.

But it’s nice knowing that if needed, he’d be willing to go through the trouble of burying two people alive for me. And although not offered right now, Damien once said he could also take matters into his own hands, so that was nice in his own way too. It’s the thought that counts, no matter how macabre it is (which coming from them, it’s definite it will be).

“Nah, it’s fine. Just worrying for nothing, I guess,” I respond quite meekly.

“It won’t be like before,” Damien states and I nod, but more in hoping he’s right than believing he is.

After the little excursion to terrorize poor old ladies with phallic fruit and rubber, I headed back home. I wanted some time alone and didn’t feel like being around anyone, which the guys understood. So we parted ways at the front of my house, Damien to hell, Christophe to tend to business, and me back home.

My parents were at the coffee shop and wouldn’t return until later for dinner and then back to the shop; I have no idea why they open practically all day during the weekend but it’s their business. But I guess it makes sense, people come late at night to cure their hangovers and since there’s not much to do in South Park, parties are pretty common so I guess business is good.

Entering the empty house, I make my way up the stairs and to my room and toss the pack of condoms on my worktable. It knocked over a mug of paintbrushes but I couldn’t be bothered to pick them up. Besides, it’s not like the table was organized to begin with; there were paint smears all over, pencils out of place, empty coffee mugs in a little pile, and finished and in progress drawings were scattered on the surface.

Not really feeling like doing anything, I moved my laptop from the bed and just laid there, staring at the ceiling above.

I think I’m tired, and it’s not just because of my almost nonexistent sleep schedule. There’s nothing to distract myself from thinking about my parents and the talk in the car earlier. Usually whenever I get into these moods I go for a walk, get coffee and/or paint but I’m not really feeling it right now. I’d like to be out and away somewhere and not be trapped inside; I prefer the outdoors and wide open spaces where everything’s unrestricted but the pull of stagnation is winning over.

I think I’m worrying too much. About my parents going off. Or maybe not enough, considering their past record. I’d like to not have to worry about it, but its impossible.

I rub my forearms absentmindedly. Maybe they’ll bruise after grabbing them earlier at the store but it wouldn’t be anything I haven’t dealt with before. And it’s not that bad, they’ve been worse.

 _I don’t want things to go back to how they were._ I don’t want to go back to seeing a psychiatrist and feeling like shit all the time.

Thinking about this isn’t going to get me anywhere but I can’t help it. I need coffee but I don’t want to get up so I just keep laying here in bed and thinking.

I know it’s not going to be like before now; I’ve gotten over the lethargy and feeling fucked up during recovery and not feeling out of it from the meds. The damage was repaired but the process was a bitch, to put it simply, even though there’s still meds to take for things like my anxiety and insomnia but not as much as before. The old pills are still in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, untouched because there’s no use for them anymore.

_I don’t want to feel like that again._

I should do something; I feel both restless and like nothing simultaneously. Climbing out through window by my bed to go outside for walk through forest or Stark’s Pond sound nice; I’ve done it before, it’s just a matter of shimmying down the rain gutters. The first time I “snuck” out I was scared of falling but kept doing it and now I’m not really as paranoid of falling even though still a possibility.

But in the end I choose to just stay in bed. I turn over on my side and stare at the carpet, looking at some coffee stains and random junk on the floor and close my eyes to take a nap.

 

[ . . . ]

 

The morning after the party Token and Clyde sported hangovers, which I made sure to take full advantage of. I got Clyde to puke after about thirty seconds of describing in detail the digestive products of guinea pigs. He didn’t get too far into hearing about the smell and texture of their pellets before he rushed out to his bathroom and emptied his stomach. Token was much more composed and was able to hold it down but seeing him almost loose it was so worth it.

Luckily I wasn’t suffering with them since I left the party early. I didn’t tell them about my surprise offering late last night and we just hung out for the weekend before school on Monday playing video games and wasting away on the Black’s entertainment room. I don’t like nor hate school, but the vacation was needed, though it unfortunately had to come to an end.

Today Token was driving us to school; we usually split the days on who’s carpooling us and today it was Token’s turn. It’s always pretty uneventful, as things usually are now in South Park. Without the threat of an invasion or stupid schemes that involve the whole town by Stan and the guys, things were nice and boring.

Walking down the hall to class with Clyde for our shared first period, my eyes caught the familiar head of light hair that I then noticed was Tweek, walking besides Bebe and Wendy/l, to class.

Throughout the day I kept noticing his presence; it’s like he’s everywhere and I just noticed. We only share one class together at the end of the day and even then I never really paid attention to him. But now it’s kind of surprising that I didn’t. His height would make it easy for him to blend into the crowd if it wasn’t for his mane of seemingly uncontrollable hair that looks like hasn’t been brushed in a while. It takes bedhead to a whole new level.

During our last period I came in barely on time since I was held up talking with Kevin during our chemistry class. Tweek was already in his seat by the middle of the class near the wall, writing something down.

We didn’t get a chance to talk at the party and I’m not sure if to talk to him right now, and glancing at the wall to see the clock saying class starts in less than two minutes, I decide on just talking to him after class.

As the lecture went on I kept glancing every now and then to the blond. Since his seat was more in front of mine with a couple rows in between it was easy to do so.

He seemed distracted and kept alternating between paying attention to the class and writing on the journal on his desk. From my seat, he looked tired, more than usual. His black circles seem a bit more intense even from this angle, more than when saw him up close at the coffee shop and at Bebe’s.

Looking at his feet I noticed his messenger bag was smeared with paint splatters and what was clearly paint covered finger prints so I’m pretty sure he ‘s been drawing this whole class period. The movements of his hand are too fast and seem more like strokes so yeah, definitely drawing and not taking notes. The paint on his bag reminded me of the painted over gnome I found in my backyard but I chose not to dwell on it so much.

As the bell rang and students started filing out, I stuffed my notebook and pen in my backpack and rushed out to catch up to Tweek, who just closed his worn out drawing journal and left.

Exiting the class, I saw him head out the back exit of the school and made my way to him, shoving people out of the way who didn’t move fast enough and telling them to move, which was redundant since they were still shoved out of my path.

“Tweek, wait!” I try to call to him, determined to finally put our little spat behind us and move on like mature almost-adults.  

At the door, he stops and turns to see who called out to him. He sees me stroll up to him and meets my gaze with a mix of confusion and curiosity in his eyes.

“Can we talk?” I ask him and he takes a moment before he replies with an “Okay.”

At least we were being civil and he didn’t look like he was still pissed at me, which I guess this meant we were off to a good start.

I move toward one of the lunch tables outside the back of the school, him following besides me and we sit so we face each other from across the table. The apology in my head that I was supposed to give him a while back was memorized but I was drawing a blank on where and how exactly to start.

“Um . . . about the coffee shop thing, I uh. The things I said, I . . . I wanted you to know that . . . _fuck._ Give me a moment,” I tell him. I glance down at my hands on the table and look at his. He has them over the used and fat looking journal from class earlier, which also has some paint marks just like his satchel.

“You’re not very good at apologies, are you?” He asks and I jerk my head back to meet his eyes.

“Not really. But I am,” he gives a ghost of a smile. “Sorry,” I clarify just in case and he gives a short small laugh, or more like an amused exhale through his nose.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry too, by the way. I was being a bit of a shithead to you.”

“Yes,” I immediately agree. I wasn’t lying, but before he can formulate what to say next or possibly get mad once more, I add, “but I was an ass first so yeah. Everything got fucked.”

“Very fucked,” he agrees.

“ _Astronomically_ fucked,” I try to humor him to lighten up the mood for some reason.

“Fucked on various degrees. A _clusterfuck_ ,” he joins with an exaggerated lifting of his brows for added dramatic effect.

“A _fuckton_. Fuck is a good word.”

“I agree.”

“I figured,” I tell him and he raises an eyebrow out of curiosity. Or at least tries to but ends raising both up a bit and instead looks more like mild surprise.

“The creativity behind your smack talk is impressive,” I explain and notice that his nose scrunches up a bit as he laughs.

“Well, the run of the mill curse words are too predictable and overused,” he explains.

“So you like to add some pizzazz to your curses?”

“That’s one way of putting it, yeah I guess.”

“Well, I can confidently say it works, so good job. I don’t think I’ll ever forget some of the things you told me.”

A hint of red comes across cheeks at the flattery and I give a small smile. The talk isn’t as awkward as I thought it would be, it’s actually pretty comfortable.

“Maybe I’ll do that too. Clyde could use some diversity in the insults I throw at him.”

“Glad to be of service, then.”

“You should be. Coming up with new insults to throw at Clyde is a hobby. And doing so without getting him to cry is pure art.” Of course, there are certain things to never bring up with him, i.e. his mom and stuff. But besides that, he can take it and we go back and forth, exchanging insults but I always end up winning, though sometimes give it to him by default (going a bit too far and getting into pure asshole-ish territory), but the game itself it magical.

“I’ll take your word for it,” he replies and sounds like it’s the end of the conversation. He must think so too because he gathers his journal and moves to leave.

“Wait, give me your number,” I blurt out as he’s getting up off the bench.

His already big eyes widen, shock completely evident and he’s stuck between sitting in the bench and getting up from it. He remains in the position for a few moments and I’m also confused as to why he’s acting this way until it clicks that he’s jumping to a different conclusion than what I was getting at.

“For the project. To coordinate shit we need to get done,” I clarify.

He mouths a mall _Oh_ to himself and sits down again. I reach for my phone from one of the pockets in my hoodie and hand it to him. He takes it and starts to plug in his contact info on my phone.

Against the dark phone case, his skin on his hands looks even paler and the bones protrude. He has pretty boney hands and some of the knuckles seem like they’re bruised. Again like at our first meeting I notice the band-aids on his hands and fingers. Looking at them, one is the generic plain brown but the remaining ones are different colors and designs. The two that catch my eye are a cactus print one on his left index finger and a u.f.o. print one on his right thumb.

He finishes and hands me back my cell, looking a bit sheepish. He clears his throat and says, “See you later, then” with a slight wave before getting up.

I follow his action and get up myself and nod back at him. He walks off to the parking area and I move back inside the school to meet Token and Clyde by the front of the school. Checking my phone, I see they’ve already sent a text a couple minutes ago asking where I was and I reply that I’m on my way. Before putting the phone back in my pocket, I create a new message and address it to Tweek so he could have my number on his contact list as well.

_Again, sorry ‘bout the thing at your parent’s shop. It’s Craig btw._

I shove it back in it’s place amongst my old iPod and pack of half empty tin of mints before reaching the front of the school where Token and Clyde are talking to each other. They notice me and start the car. The inside of Token’s car is cozy and Clyde convinces us to stop by Taco Bell and before I can make a comment, I feel my pocket vibrate. _It’s ok_ , he responded and added the poop emoji at the end.

“What are you so amused by?” Token asks and I look at him. Clyde already exited the car and was going inside the fast food place.

“Nothing,” I tell him and we get out to join Clyde.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls read top notes for important info and thanks for reading!
> 
> "beware the ides of march"  
> ''it's april"  
> lmao it's not april anymore i've had this exchange in mind since late march and april completely passed by 
> 
> btw, in case it wasn't clear what christophe and damien's dares were, it was reading twilight and 50 shades of grey. literally the first thing i thought of on the dynamics of their friendship when coming up with this fic was the gnome prank and the penalty dares idk why


	4. New Friends Are Golden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **If you’ve read the notes last chapter, you’ll know there’s gonna be time skips and they’re starting from now on. Hopefully I do them well and it flows without being awkward . . . **
> 
> Oops so far I’ve written this in a way that Craig is developing interest first so I need to rectify this. The plan was for both to develop feelings at the same time but I do like fics where Craig falls for Tweek first so even if it does turn out that way, which is not what I intended, then oh well.
> 
> I keep forgetting to address this (and many more things about the fic that I’m forgetting): Tweek doesn’t really stutter. In the show he talks really fast with the occasional stutter (which I have him do too) but it’s not intense. The way he’s here might seem ‘normal’ but it’s the result of a lot of therapy and withdrawal from the meth coffee his parents had him drink since who knows when. This will be more in depth in a later chapter. This is all for now but I’ll add more things along the way on the notes. Oh! And Craig is adopted and of Peruvian descent, more on that later. Oh and I renamed the first two chapters. Jeez is this fic all over the place? Lol
> 
> Chapter title is a line from fall out boy – homesick at space camp which I’ve been listening to quite a bit (title of song reminds me of Craig)

Tracks:

Elvis Depressedly – Teeth

Starfucker – Rawnald Gregory Erickson the Second

 

 

One of the worst things about South Park High, besides the food, is the compulsory gym class the first three years. Excuses like forgotten clothes and sick notes can only get you so far in avoiding having to run laps around the track or partaking in a sport. It makes no sense why there’s even a class dedicated to getting sweaty and changing in a room with upwards of twenty other guys who are just as sweaty or even more so. And some don’t even wear deodorant. _Blegh_.

I think my favorite excuse that I’ve used was that I didn’t believe in flag football and the teacher just let me be on the sides doing nothing. But I suspect he was hungover. And supposedly a freshman once gave a speech saying the stars weren’t aligned right and that meant it wasn’t a good time for him to run the bleachers and got away with it. _Ingenuity and teacher passiveness at its finest._

However, it’s moments like these, where the gym flooded so we get to have a free period out by the football field, that make me want to believe in divine intervention. But a couple of classrooms flooded too – I think it had something to do with rusty pipes or whatever – so now three classes are combined. It’s not as bad since we all have free range of the field and most are on the fake grass on the playing area or whatever it’s called, leaving most of the bleacher space empty.

It’s nearing the end of April so the transition from spring to summer is making the weather a bit weird; it’s cold at night and cloudy in the morning but it turns sunny and warm in the afternoon into the evening, so the warm-ish weather is making me feel lazy.

Preferring to keep my own company in peace, I move to the seating area. Christophe and Damien are in different PE classes, and even then they skip most of it and aren’t even reprimanded for it but I guess that’s just what happens when you have a natural tough exterior and emit a ‘don’t fuck with me’ aura. _Those lucky bastards._

Making my way over to the empty area besides someone in a red jacket, I realize it might be Clyde that’s sitting alone. Upon closer inspection, I confirm that yes, it is him and it seems weird that he’s not mingling with other people in his class. I wonder which class he had that got flooded.

He’s spaced out and I wonder if I should say something. Technically we’re not really friends, even though I’m acquainted with Craig, but that doesn’t mean we’re close, though the past few weeks of working together for history we’ve talked and it’s surprisingly pleasant and easy going. He’s a good bullshiter when it comes to making progress reports and it’s pretty funny how the teacher doesn’t realize he’s messing with her and we laugh afterwards. Wait. _Am_ I friends with Craig?!

“Um . . . a-are you okay?” I ultimately decide to ask the spaced out teen, who turns to look at me.

“Oh, Tweek, hey. Yeah I guess,” he responds, but it’s clear he’s lying, he doesn’t hide his emotions all that well and you can read him like an open book. I mean, I’m not exactly a master facial reader but it’s pretty clear how close his face can betray any chance he’d want at being closed off on what he’s feeling.

Not completely sure what social cue to enact, I just flop next to him and awkwardly tilt my thermos towards him, offering him some and hoping he sees it as a friendly gesture even if we aren’t really friends. But then again we aren’t close enough that he’ll know it’s meant to be a comforting action so I don’t know what to do. More than I already don’t.

Thankfully he does and shakes his head but offers a smile as thanks, so we sit like this for a while, looking out into the field. We’re high enough that we can get a pretty good view of the whole expanse including teen #1 making out with teen #2 by the big football fork/trident thing and group of teens A playing with group of teens B on their Nintendo DSes by the ‘grassy’ area at the center.

The sight of a pigeon fighting with another over a discarded cookie on the ground at the end of the bleachers catches my attention and get distracted looking at the fight play out until a sudden heavy sigh startles me enough to make me jump. Clyde, sitting next to me, saw and laughs.

He has that ‘boy next door’ appearance coupled with gentle brown eyes and a warm laugh, so it was near impossible not to join him, so we sat there laughing at an insignificant nothing until we stopped and he apologized for having laughed in the first place.

“Are you okay?” I ask again, still not sure if it’s okay to ask as well as not sure if it’s out of actual care or social obligation that I’m asking, which in turn made my question sound not only like a question ( _No shit, Tweek_ ) but hesitant as well.

He takes a while to think it over until he releases another loaded exhale. _Wow, two so far. He must be troubled by something._ Next thing you know he’s going to be drumming his fingers on his lap or gnawing on his lips, but then again that’s just me. Maybe two big exhales is the extent of the way he expresses his troubles.

“There’s only what, a month or so left until junior year ends and then what, a couple months of vacation and then we come back to fill out college applications and try to live up to what we’re selling ourselves as to the admissions directors, right?”

To say he hit it right on the nail would be an understatement.

“Basically. Why, are you worried?” _Way to state the obvious, Tweek_. But after hearing what he’s been thinking about, now I know what he looked like before I came over. Contemplative. Melancholy. Bummed the fuck out. Take your pick, it’s all the same. _Ish._ And looking at him closely, he reminds me of guys from the 50s, especially with the letterman jacket. Here at the bleachers it’s almost a shame he’s not breaking into song about summer love or something, but I’m getting too distracted.

“Well, yeah. I don’t really star in our football team so the chance of an athletic scholarship is pretty slim and even if I did I don’t really know what the hell I’d do,” he says, keeping his eye out to the field, staring at nothing in particular.

Well, this sure sounds pretty heavy to lay on a guy you don’t talk to. Considering what way is best to ask a certain question without sounding too rude but finding it hard, I just flat out ask him, “Isn’t this something you’d talk to with people you’re close with like Craig and Token?” while playing with my hands, looking for something to do to ease the slight tension.

“They wouldn’t understand,” he sighs yet again, but more softer.

“And I do?” I’m still confused as to why he’s talking to me about this.

“I think so.” He turns his head to look at me and my face must convey my thoughts pretty good because he immediately adds, “Wait, I don’t mean to insult you or anything like that, I just feel like maybe you’d know or at least know how to listen, if that makes sense.”

“Well, if it _was_ insultingly then I’d say you and Craig sure are alike,” I try to joke by bringing up the incident at the café and he laughs.

“Oh man, that’d be something. He’s not really that much of an ass, he’s just . . . oblivious? I don’t know, but he means well,” he vouches for his best friend.

“Yeah, I kinda got that from the past few weeks we’ve kind of talked, it’s cool, man” I reassure him.

“And it does make sense, what you’re trying to say,” I add. Still fiddling with my hands, I finally tell him, “If you want to talk, I’ll listen if you want.” _No pressure or anything._

He gives a grateful smile and thanks me. “It’s just . . . shitty. I feel stupid, I guess, that keeping up with school is hard and that words on the board get jumbled up a lot making it hard to read them the right way. It’s tiring. And imagining the same thing at college is a fucking bummer.”

“You’re dyslexic?” I blurt out.

“Yeah,” he rubs the nape of his neck in embarrassment. Nice, Tweek. They guy decides to confide in you and all you take from that is his disability? Bravo, dipshit. Not sure what to do, I resort to nervously clenching my hands and thinking of what to say to ease his embarrassment and my slip.

“I have ADHD!” I tell him, hoping to get him to stop feeling insecure about his dyslexia by telling him of my disability.

“You do?” He asks and I nod. Apparently, in a dark cruel sense of ironic coincidence, my parents had it right; I do have ADHD. You’d think the cause of my behavior growing up was due to the massive amounts of coffee and the drugs but in addition to all that the learning problems from the ADHD was the cherry on top.

“It’s hard to stay focused on things I’m not interested in and it took a long time to figure out how to work with it,” I add with a shrug.

“Well damn. Same here, but it still doesn’t make it any easier,” he says and I let out an exhaled hum in agreement.

“We should start a club. Members get discounted calculators or whatever.”

“As long as we aren’t stuck inside a room for meetings, I’m in.”

“Great! Maybe that could be on my application, ‘Co-Founder and Member of the Teens With Shit Attention and Learning Problems and Whatever’ or tuhwssaluhpawuh for short,” he smirks at the thought.

I laugh at his attempt to pronounce the acronym. “You’d be a shoe-in for sure,” I add.

With the humor dying down, I tell him, “There’s different kinds of intelligence; being able to stay in the team with sufficient grades is pretty smart. Besides, you don’t have to go to college right away, you can take a gap year or just not go.” I know it’s one thing to hear it be said and another to believe it for yourself but maybe it’d feel better having it come from someone going through something similar.

Who’da thought I’d be having a personal conversation with Clyde Donovan this early in the afternoon. Definitely not me, but it’s nice. I can see why Craig is good friends with him.

“Is that what you’re gonna do?” he asks with interest.

“Agh! I-I don’t know, man. Maybe. Or work at my parent’s coffee shop and take over. Who knows,” I shrug. It’s not a complete lie; I _have_ though of what to do after graduation before and college applications are soon and the pressure on deciding what to do for the rest of your life is getting intense.

“Yeah, I could do that too, take over the family business. But it’s kinda difficult talking about this with Token and Craig.”

I raise my eyebrow at his statement and he explains, “Token’s been set on going off to an ivy league to go into pre-law. He’s had a plan since last year and it’s going pretty well.”

“And Craig?” I ask curiously.

“Astronomy. He used to be undecided between that and being a vet.”

“So he likes animals?”

“Oh yeah, especially guinea pigs”

“He had one back in elementary,” I remember the fight we had; he was antagonized by my supposed bashing about him shoving his guinea pig up his ass, leading to us both ending up in the same room at Hell’s Pass. I smile at the memory of the stupid fight.

“Yep. But his bias towards guinea pigs was the main reason for thinking of becoming a vet. Other animals are fine to him but he’d rather be a guinea pig vet if the option existed,” he gives a short laugh.

“He could farm guinea pigs. Just have a field full of them,” I grin at the thought.

“Ah, man that’d be hilarious! I’m just imagining Old McDonald as him!”

“Instead of the straw hat, it’d be his chullo,” I add to the image. So far I’m sure he has at least two different kinds of blue chullos. The one that looks like the one he had as a kid suits him best, though that might just be because that reminds me more of when we were small.

He starts laughing and it morphs into an uncontrollable loud laugh that makes me join.

“Thanks again” he says as the bell rings.

He stands and gathers his backpack from the bench and I move to leave when he asks, “Where are you going now?”

“Lunch?” _Where else would I go?_ It’s not a half-day right?! Suddenly I’m thinking back to what day we’re on or if there’s a new holiday I didn’t know about but I’m drawing a blank.

He claps his hands, satisfied by my answer. “Perfect,” he says as he puts an arm around my shoulder, an easy feat since he’s taller and his arm is just resting without much effort.

“Let’s go then,” he drags me towards the direction of the inside of the school, opposite to where I usually sit during lunchtime.

 

[ . . . ]

 

“Look, all I’m saying is the school’s standards for a safe environments are inadequate. First that broken stall in the boys bathroom and now flooded classrooms? Jesus, what they need is to sit down with the school board and bring the problems upfront or they’ll have lawsuits piling up eventually,” Token, ever the politician, rants to me as we’re walking down the hall from our English class.

“I don’t care,” I respond. And I don’t. As long as it doesn’t affect me personally I couldn’t give less of a shit what the school does and who it affects.

Token rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know that. But don’t you think, from an objective standpoint, that it’s fucked?”

“Yes. But I’ll reiterate my previous response: I don’t care.”

“Yeah, fine, whatever. So how’s things with Tweek. I know you made up and all but are things _good_?”

“Yes, mom. I’m getting along with the other kids,” I reply with a smirk. Dicking around aside, it’s surprisingly true. Usually having to cooperate with others for school is s fucking hassle, but hearing Tweek’s theories with examples on how McCarthyism is still going on in a much smaller scale by our government is pretty interesting.

“Dude, shut up. But that’s good, I don’t have to worry about you getting into fights again.”

“That was middles school,” I deadpan, not wanting to really get into things from back then.

“I know, but still,” he backs off the subject.

“Yeah. Besides, I doubt a fight will happen with Tweek. He’s pretty chill and good with his mouth,” I say, thinking back to how he’s seemingly filled with random information. _Does he look all that up in his free time or something?_ That’s probably why he has dark circles under his eyes, from staying up late.

“Was that meant to come out as a Freudian slip?” he raises his eyebrow with a sly grin.

“What, no! God, you sound like Clyde, thinking something sounds more sexual than it is,” I accuse him.

“But you agree that you said something sexual about Tweek,” he cocks his head to the side, intent to keep prying on the accidental wording.

“I didn – well, I didn’t mean it that way, stop lawyering me,” I punch him in the shoulder.

“Fine, if you say so, just be happy Clyde wasn’t here. He wouldn’t let it go as easily,” he laughs. “But oh man, maybe you’re right, we hang around Clyde a lot.”

“We should get a new friend,” I suggest.

“But auditions would be a hassle,” he counters and we laugh.

Reaching our usual table at the cafeteria, we see Kyle and Stan sitting next to each other. I sit at the edge of the other side and Token sits next to me.

“Where’s the rest?” Token asks them, retrieving his packed lunch from his backpack before setting in on the ground.

“Jimmy has stuff to do with the newspaper,” Kyle tells him as he’s immersed in a book.

“And Kenny got lunch detention, and Butters is hanging with Kevin instead,” Stan says as he points to a table farther down with Butters in their casual clothes rather than more dressy ones when they go by Marjorine. To their side is Kevin and Thomas, all three of them talking to each other.

“Where’s Clyde?” Stan asks us.

I shrug but Token decides to elaborate. “His class flooded so he had to go to the football field. Should be here any minute. Wait, Why’s Kenny in detention?”

“He was being a smartass and told the teacher off,” Stan says.

“Him and Craig have that in common,” Token muses and turns to me. “At least your fight with Tweek wasn’t at school and didn’t get you into trouble.”

“Wait, what about Tweek?” Kyle joins in, putting his book aside.

“Craig got into a fight with him a while back” Token says before I get a chance to.

“What did you do to him?” Kyle asks; freckled face both curious and accusatory.

“It was a verbal fight, chill. We’re good now,” I tell him.

“Okay then,” he says skeptically. “He’s nice and cool to hang out with so it was just a bit jarring that ‘fight’ and ‘Tweek’ came together.”

“Since when do you and Tweek hang out?” Stan asks his boyfriend curiously.

“We used to, but nowadays not as much,” the redhead tells him.

There’s no time to sit on the implications of what he said, because in came Clyde strolling in with the small blond in question under his arm. Or more like Clyde came in dragging him along.

“Hey guys, Tweek’s joining us today” he says as he sits across next to Kyle and drags Tweek besides him.

“Hey,” he gives a small wave, looking a bit uncomfortable.

“Clyde, what have we talked about giving people their personal space?” Token addresses him in a scolding tone. “Hi Tweek, how are you?” He tells the fidgety teen in a polite manner.

“Good thank you,” he blurts out the response rapidly and the rest of the table greets him as well.

“So, how’d you two get together?” Stan asks Clyde and Tweek.

Clyde casually puts arm around Tweek when saying they hung out last period and I resist the urge to smack him upside the head for being clingy. He means nothing bad by doing so but coming from someone who’s not close to you, it can be fucking weird. But Tweek doesn’t look that bothered by it, but does give a small smile as Clyde removes his arm.

Besides being a little awkward about the turn of events, Tweek remains in his seat, clutching his thermos and pulling a muffin out of his bag. We all start eating whatever we brought or bought and fall into small talk about classes or whatever before it steers off to the topic of the end of the year.

“So this year’s party is still on right?” Stan asks Token.

“Hell yeah!” Clyde answers for him. “It’s going to be awesome! Maybe you’ll even get a chance to mack on them honeys,” he addresses Token and I specifically.

“I can’t even tell when you’re joking or not,” Token criticizes the overexcited brunet.

“Cool so we’re all going?” Kyle asks the table to make sure before we all turn to Tweek, who finished his muffin.

“Oh! I, uh – I don’t think so. I have to work that day, so . . .”

“You’ve scheduled plans that far in?” I ask him and he turns his hazel eyes to me.

“My parents are going out of town on business that weekend. I have to look over the shop,” he tells me.

“Alone?”

“Yeah, but Bebe works there too so it’s not completely in my care,” he shrugs.

The sight of Christophe and Damien nearing the table catches all our attention as well as the attention of some others. Tweek catches their gaze and as they come over and the three of them fall into a silent communication consisting of small facial expressions before they also sit down by Token, across from Tweek and Clyde.

The table greets them and they give nods in acknowledgement before the conversation starts again. Token, still on about the school’s problems, rants to the rest of the table before Kyle joins in. Not really caring to hear that nor Stan and Clyde talking about the game afterschool, I turn to the direction of the new additions and see Christophe taking some of Tweek’s coffee. The blond, talking to Damien, notices but doesn’t care.

“It’s bullshit! The government spends _billions_ on the army yet can’t cut a bit off that to make sure our schools are running properly?!” Kyle’s slightly raised voice catches our attention.

“It’s just the way it is, man. There’s not much we can do about the government’s skewed priorities,” Token tells him.

“Governments are a farce,” the scruffy looking brunet says with a slight French accent and adds something afterwards in French, to which the antichrist laughs and Tweek sort of does but looks unsure of exactly what was said. Token and Kyle share the same expression, considering they’re taking French instead of Spanish. _It was probably the curse words that they understood_.

Although Stan, Kenny, Butters, Clyde and I take Spanish, only Clyde and I share the same period. We mainly pass the time cursing in Spanish; Clyde calls me a ‘grosero’ and I tell him ‘vete a la verga.’ But that usually leads to a scolding or detention, not that I care. But it’s the same crap from everyone learning a new language: learn to cuss first.

Christophe and Damien join in the discussion after this, and Tweek just sits by to listen. Nothing really piques my interest so I space out, turning the noise of the cafeteria into background noise and not paying attention to anyone including the small blond until I feel a hand slap my shoulder.

“What?” I turn to Token.

“We were talking about the senior bonfire this summer,” Clyde says.

“Okay, and?” I tell him

“Well, we were checking who’s going and everyone said yeah, but you since you were spacing out like a dumbass . . . ” he smiles mockingly.

I flip him off.

“That’s not an answer,” Token snickers as well as Stan and Kyle, so I flip them off to. Looking at the other side of the table, Christophe and Damien aren’t as interested and are talking to each other about who knows what but Tweek still remains in the conversation and is looking at me, eyebrows raised in a failed attempt to raise just one in curiosity. His big eyes add to the gesture and it’s kind of funny and cute, in a way (and for lack of a better word).

He kind of reminds me of a small animal, soft but there’s an undeniable roughness to him. He’s rough around edges like his dark circles, hands that always have at least two bandaids on them, and despite full-ish cheeks, he has a definable jaw line.

Turning my attention back to Clyde, I tell him, “Yeah, I guess. Not like I have a choice anyways, you’d drag me along even if I said no.” And it’s true, unfortunately.

“Love you too,” he winks at me.

“I don’t love you,” I say with as less emotion as I can, which is a success.

“Why you lyin’?” Clyde sings to me and I show him my middle finger again and tell him “Stop,” before he can say/sing the rest.

“Dude, that meme’s old,” Stan tells the brunet.

“I refuse to let it die. It’s a meme classic. A memassic,” he shamelessly tells the table.

“Clyde, no,” I tell him.

“Okay! As much as I enjoy this riveting discussion on memes ‘n things, I have to help set up for chemistry class,” Kyle says as he gets up to leave, Stan following after him.

“See you later then,” Clyde tells them, but mainly to Stan since there’s a football match later today, which as his close friend I’m obligated to go. _Great._

“Later,” they address everyone. “Bye, Tweek,” Kyle smiles at the blond. “Christophe, Damien,” he gives a courteous nod and they reciprocate as Tweek bids his farewell to the redhead.

 

[ . . . ]

 

As the impromptu group lunch date continues, it turns to the topic of the game afterschool and who’s going. Clyde’s excited and saying that we (as in the school and the team) will win today since the other team sucks.

Damien, Christophe and I exchange a questioning look, asking each other, _Do we go?_ The only reason we do go to football games sometimes is to support Bebe and today is one of the last games of the year, so it might be pretty special. We reach the same conclusion and nod in agreement, deciding to attend this one.

It’s not long before lunch ends and we leave to our classes, saying bye and telling Craig I’d see him in class later.

. . .

When we arrive at the game – late, but it doesn’t matter since we’re mainly here for the cheerleading at halftime – we look for where to sit on the bleachers. It’s pretty packed and my eyes are darting for a place where the three of us can sit together when the waving in our direction from the center of the seating area catches my eyes.

Token was waving to us, signaling the empty space besides Craig, who’s sitting next to him and Jimmy at his other side with Kyle, Kenny, and Butters farther down the row. _Did they save seats for us?_ I don’t know but if they did, it was pretty cool of them to do so. I lead the way up the stairs and sit next to Craig, clad in his trademark hat and looking bored. Christophe puts out his cigarette and sits next to me and then Damien sits on his other side at the edge of the metal bench.

We share pleasantries with everyone before going back to paying attention to the game. So far it’s tied one for one and it’s about a quarter of the way in so who knows who’ll win. After a while it starts getting difficult to pay attention since nothing exciting is happening so I decide to people watch instead.

I notice a guy from my English class ‘discretely’ picking his nose at the far left of the front seats and someone from the team’s family at the center front seats. The parents are paying attention to the game and cheering while the two siblings are making faces at each other to pass the time. In my opinion the little girl was definitely beating her brother at it; her goldfish impression is the best I’ve ever seen and I feel like drawing it. _It’s not weird right?! On second thought, maybe I won’t._

I turn my head to the side to look at what Christophe and Damien are doing, but they seem to be paying attention. Knowing them, they’re probably paying attention to see if any injuries happen. I’ve heard loads of gnarly accidents happen at football games like concussions and arms bent backwards at unnatural angles but I’ve never seen anything like that happen when we go to these events to watch Bebe cheer. _But then again it’s not like you pay attention to the game anyways._

I turn to the other side of the bleachers to see what the other guys are doing and they too are paying attention (duh), but Craig next to me has his earbuds in, hands in his hoodie pockets, and eyes closed. I don’t know if he’s sleeping or not but it’s pretty admirable that even amongst the cheering crowd he still remains unperturbed, not caring that he’s listening to music instead of paying attention. But then again it’s such a Craig-like thing to do and I can’t help but smile a bit.

Looking at him up close, the fluorescent lights sharpen his pigmentation and make his already naturally tanned skin look a bit darker. It’s kind of misplaced, his skin color, considering the time of the year and the fact that South Park doesn’t get _that_ hot but maybe he tans easily. But then again it wouldn’t make sense since he always had a hoodie on and his parents are naturally pale, from what I remember. _Wait, his parents are a blonde and a redhead. And none of them have beauty marks on their face like he does._

The sound of a sudden bellowing laughter from besides me jars me from what I was doing. Turning around, I see it’s Christophe the one who’s laughing, and a lot of other people in the audience have joined in while others look concerned.

I ask him what happened, but the only thing he manages to say through his raucous laughter is “Ce connard a obtenu son cul lui remit! C'est à pisser de rire!” while pointing at the direction of the field.

Although technically I’m taking French at school, it’s not exactly enough to be able to hold fluent conversations with Christophe or even Damien. Since there’s supposedly a shitload of people in hell, that means there’s various spoken languages so he’s learned to speak and even become fluent in different languages. But who needs basic French when you know the necessities like accurate cussing and slang phrases that don’t make you sound like a socially inept person. At least I know some of what Christophe said (which was mainly cussing but what else is new). Sure, I don’t know how to conjugate verbs off the top of my head but if someone calls me a ‘connard’ I can reply that they’re a ‘salaud.’ _Haha, sounds like salad._

Anyways, I look to where he pointed to see a player from the other team was being led off to the sides, limping, so I guess they both finally got to see something worth their while.

The injury came at a good time because not many minutes later it cuts to halftime and the cheerleaders come on. Many of us stand up to watch better and cheer for them and see that Kyle, Kenny, and Butters are also cheering for Wendy/l and Bebe since they’re friends as well.

Bebe has her usual cloud of curly hair in a tight bun and Wendy/l has their short bob clipped back to keep hair out of their face. Bebe catches sight of me, it’s kind of easy since my shorter frame and light erratic hair is more pronounced by the taller boys next to me. _It’s kind of like that one picture of an alien being led away by the government guys_ , I compare the situation and resist the urge to laugh, even if I am making fun of myself.

She must think something similar (which is why I love her) because she also resists laughing and is instead tightlipped to try to remain composed. It works and after the cheering she mouths at our direction to wait for her until after the game to hang out later.

As the game resumes, it doesn’t take long before I also resume my own game. People watching. It’s kind of dark out but with the help of the floodlights illuminating things, it’s not much of a difference and doesn’t make being able to see people hard. However, seeing as how it’s the last half, more are paying attention so that looses its appeal and I find my attention going back to the tall guy dressed in blue sitting next to me.

He’s not wearing his earbuds anymore and my gaze instead lowers to his hands on his lap. They’re pleasing to look at, in an artistic sense; his hands are big and tanned like the rest of him and he has nice long fingers that are focused on playing on his light blue Nintendo DS. The movements of his thumbs on the controls aren’t erratic and are instead slow and graceful. _That rules out any hardcore games,_ I think to myself.

Curiosity and boredom from sitting around get the best of me and I lean a bit into him to see what the game is when my eyes catch the small cartoonish characters against a patch of grass.

I quickly realize that he’s playing Animal Crossing and I jerk back in my seat to stifle laughter but end up choking and patting at my chest to keep from dying. Of course, this grabs the attention of not only Christophe and Damien but also Craig and Token, who are close enough to hear over the sounds of the game and audience, both sharing their own version of a curious facial expression. _Oh God, kill me now._

“What the fuck’s up with you?” Damien quirks a brow, and it takes a while before I can answer back, considering I’m still coughing up a lung. Slightly panicking and hoping I won’t have to resort to using the self-Heimlich I learned on that one WebMD article, I take my time to try to calm down. Plus I’m mortified and need to come up with an excuse. I can’t exactly say I was staring at Craig and the fact that he plays Animal Crossing made me lose it isn’t something I want to confess, especially with Craig literally sitting right next to me.

“Nothing! I’m just, uh . . . thirsty. Yeah, I need to get something to drink,” I get up fast from my seat and hope my face isn’t red from the embarrassment.

“I’m getting a drink too,” I don’t need to turn to see who said it, the nasally response is definitely from Craig, and as I move from the bleachers to the concession stand I can feel his presence not that far behind.

By the time we reach the stand, I managed to compose myself. The chilly air helped, and looking through the menu that was written with a marker on a piece of plywood I definitely decide to get a cup of coffee. Taking my time to fix it with whatever available add-ons they put on a table besides the stand, I look up to see Craig casually standing by me. He has a can of coke he must’ve bought while I was fixing my coffee and is drinking from it, staring at nothing in particular in the direction of the field.

“You okay?” He turns his head to me.

“Yeah,” I nod and hope he doesn’t ask more, which he doesn’t. There’s not many people getting up to get drinks or food, _The game’s probably interesting_ , I think but don’t care to see the rest play out I turn to face the same direction Craig’s looking at and cup my coffee with both hands, letting the warmth seep into my skin against the chill of the closing night. It’s not that cold so the same dark green flannel I was wearing earlier but with the sleeve now rolled down provides sufficient warmth. We continue to loiter around the table, not really in a hurry to get back to a game neither of us were paying attention to, and fall into a pleasant silence; the smell of nachos and hot dogs cooking and sounds of cheering and whistles from the game surrounding us.

Who knows how many minutes pass before I finish my drink and toss the paper cup in the garbage can next to us.

“God, this sucks balls,” he huffs and throws his empty soda can at the recycling bin next to the trash can.

“Not a big fan of football?” I tease.

“And you are?” he quips back.

I scrunch my nose in distaste and shake my head. “Watching sports is boring,” I tell him.

“Got that right”

“So you’re not a fan of sports either?”

“Fuck no. What’s the point anyways?” he says and it sounds more rhetorical than like an actual question.

“Yeah. It was enough being in a baseball team back in elementary.”

“That was the worst. Remembering how boring it was makes me want to stick a needle in my eye” and we laugh at the shared sentiment. His laughter sounds nice and easy going; low and some nasalness seeped in. Most of the time he has a neutral expression but the times he does laugh and/or smile it’s not really weird. You’d think it would be, considering he’s naturally passive, but surprisingly and pleasantly it’s not out of place.

“Why’d you come? Just to support Clyde?” I ask curiously.

“Yep. Pretty much” he pops the ‘p’ and I smile not only at that but that he’s not as cold as he can come across as, not that that’s been the impression he’s given until now. _What kind of cold person would play Animal Crossing on a light blue DS anyway?_

“Same. But not about Clyde, not that he’s not nice or anything but we’re mainly here for Bebe”

“Do you come often just for her?”

“Sometimes, yeah. Mainly just stick around until she comes on and then leave.” He nods understandingly.

“And you? You seemed pretty bored, do you put up with it a lot?” I ask.

“Not that often, just sometimes.”

“So I take it you’re coming to the last game next month?” I cock my head slightly.

He sighs. “Yeah.”

“Same here. Bebe and Wendy/l have been working hard on a performance for that game so we’re sticking out ‘till the end again.”

“You have a DS?”

“Yeah?”

“Bring it,” he states. “We’ll keep each other company, maybe it won’t be so boring.”

“As long as I’m player 1, deal,” I tell him with a side grin.

“Hmm . . . ” he pretends to think on it for a bit before saying, “fine.”

“Alright then, it’s a plan,” I say as a loud whistle breaks throughout the field and the crowd cheers loudly. It’s pretty dark out and checking my phone, I realize we’ve been here for the whole rest of the game and I tell Craig, so we move back to the bleachers.

When we catch up to our respective friends back where we were sitting, avoiding people who are beginning to leave and managing to not bump into them, Token asks what we’ve been doing the whole time, which prompts Christophe and Damien to raise an eyebrow. Craig doesn’t bother making an excuse and flat out says he was bored and I nod apologetically in agreement.

Afterwards we all split up to go to our own friends and bid goodbye to everyone and I tell Craig I’ll see him on Monday, which he says a short “See ya” before leaving with Token and Jimmy to go find Clyde.

Reaching Bebe, we congratulate her and talk about where to go before deciding on going to Benny’s to get food and hang out the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some boys are monsters was one of the first creek fanfics I read and I liked the Tweek/Clyde friendship so I wanted to write something with them. I didn’t have much of an idea for this chapter besides the twyde interaction but look at how it turned out! I never went to a high school football game so I mainly thought of that one scene in the perks of being a wallflower movie to picture it.
> 
> I use google to translate and look up French phrases for Christophe so it might not be that accurate. I did take French in middle school but that was a long time ago so it’s not much help
> 
> Finally I can do chapter 5 I’m excited!! Hopefully it can go up by my birthday on the 30th but who knows since my statistics class is nearing the end and there’s a lot to study for and get done
> 
> Personal thanks to mrspenelope and author_in_silver_ink for commenting on the first chapter way back then, I still look back fondly at them for reassurance even if I am iffy about the first two chapters; idk if you still read this story but if you do thank you. And thank you lilyjay12 and ‘reader’ on ch 3, it was hard getting back to writing and your lovely review/comments motivated me to keep going and not drop this fic so this is for you all :)


	5. Late Night Rendezvous on Mars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just realized what this fic is; it’s more like fragments of important parts of their relationship as they get closer. Could this have been longer and have moments in between what I have planned? Yes but I didn’t plan this too much so *shrugs* but hopefully the romance doesn’t seem too rushed by the time of the end. Oh and I set the stage for the important parts/events in the previous chapter so yeah, there’s going to be time skips as I keep mentioning over and over. This chapter is the beginning of sumer vacation.
> 
> Third update in a month?! Nice! (idk what format this website's in but it's still May when I uploaded this)
> 
> There’s a lot of dialogue and references to things that I thought might fit the characters so yeah. (There's so much dialogue and I hope it flows well)

Tracks:

Wild Nothing – Nocturne

Madeon – Beings

 

 

“You sure you don’t want to come with me?” Bebe asks as she takes the scrunchie off her head, releasing curly hair from the confines of the messy ponytail it was in. Her, or technically our, usual evening shift is over and the topic of going to Token’s end of the year party is being brought up again for the who-knows-how-many-ith time this week.

“No, I’m fine,” I continue to wipe down the counter, looking for something to do after a slow-ish day of business.

“You don’t have to stay here and look after the coffee shop. Just close early and come to the party. Or are you really going to spend the whole day here?” She crosses her arms but looks worried. My parents thought same, but I insisted I could take over the shop in their absence, that is, after some convincing.

“You know I’m not comfortable in big parties like those at Token’s. Besides, it’s not like I’m going to get any sleep regardless of where I am. Here or at home it’s practically the same.” _And my sleeping pills aren’t working so well anymore_. So yeah, at least I won’t have to endure a sensory overload in a huge house with only Bebe there to keep me calm.

“But at least I’d be there. Chris and Damien are busy so they can’t keep you company; do you really want to be alone here? _At night_?” she waves her arms around the shop to help emphasize her point. There’s some people here at the moment but are too focused on their own business to pay attention to the yellow-haired employees at the counter.

“Thanks for scaring me.” _Don’t think about serial killers or escaped convicts hitting up the shop._ “But yes. It’s not like the party’s going to be intimate anyways and I don’t want to cling to you,” I tell her again for the something-ith time.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll stay with you,” she leans her hip against the counter. She was going to go to Wendy/l’s and get ready there and go together but now she’s stalling those plans.

“Bebe, no. Go have fun and hang out with Wendy/l. I swear I’m okay. In fact, I’ll text you every hour if it makes you feel better.” Maybe bargaining and meeting her halfway will put her at ease.

She purses her lips, thinking it over. “Okay,” she says as she closes in on me and gives me a hug.

“I’m not going to war,” I smile against her hair, which tickles my face until she pulls away. “Don’t worry; besides, hardly anyone comes past 10. It’ll be me just hanging around. I’m not doing the usual all day thing my parents do during the weekends so I’ll go home and then be back to open up.” Although this was my parent’s, mainly my mom’s, idea I still agreed. Showering, eating, and taking a quick power nap would definitely be needed in between the usual time the shop runs.

“Fine. Then I’ll see you tomorrow for my usual shift. And don’t forget to text me. At least until 2 am,” she takes off her work apron and puts it away.

“Promise. Now go be youthful,” I tell her and she leaves.

As time goes by there’s a slow stream of people coming in and some stay for a while but for the most part by 12 am the crowd pretty much stops and it’s just me moving from the booth to tables to the couches, either drawing or reading and drinking coffee and getting up to get refills, changing lounging place after each time of getting up. As promised, I keep texting Bebe until 2 am comes as well as text Christophe and Damien, but they’re caught up in whatever they’re doing so that’s pretty slow too. I also get a call from my parents who wanted to check in, just like they promised they would before leaving on business and it makes me feel a bit relieved that they’re sticking to it.

By the time 2 am comes it’s well into the night when people sleep and I’ve stopped giving Bebe check ins since she was heading home already. But thanks to what she said about being here alone at night the atmosphere’s gotten kind of heavy with my uneasiness thinking about worst case scenarios. There is a baseball bat that’s kept hidden by the register just in case but it’s not exactly a fair match against a firearm or chainsaw or even a bow and arrow, even though those last two are highly improbable but still could happen if your luck was bad.

Thinking about this has left me scratching and tapping at the counter with my short nails and it’s not exactly helping in my case; I feel high-strung and with nothing to distract myself with (reading and drawing have gotten boring by now) that it’s getting ridiculous and I can feel my bottom lip close to busting open from continuous biting. _Maybe I should switch to tea_ , however odd tasting it is. I’ve lost count already at how much coffee I’ve had but it must be quite a bit, considering the jitteriness I’m feeling.

The shop’s been quiet for some time and it’s dark out, so it feels like I’m in some desolate place void of human life and everything I do seems incredibly loud in comparison. Thinking about this as I make a cup of tea, the sudden sound of the bell on the door ringing startles me enough to drop the freshly made cup on the ground.

 

[ . . . ]

 

 _I don’t know how I got here._ Well, I do know how, but not why _here._ Last thing I remember was walking home from Token’s and the next thing I know I’m walking through the door to Tweek Bros. Or rather, stumbling. Wait, I _do_ remember thinking that it was cold and that there was something missing this whole evening, but hell if I know what that means at a time like this.

My gaze focuses on a head of unruly blond hair and confused set of tired wild eyes locked on my presence. “Craig?!” The voice kind of shrieks.

“Hey . . .” I stop at the door, letting it close behind me.

“What are you doing here?!”

 _“That_ is a good question.” But it came out more like ‘queshton.’

“Are you drunk?” He gives me a questioning look of disbelief before he goes over to pick up a rag and clean up a mess by his feet, picking up pieces of a broken mug and leaving it on the sink behind the counter. He must’ve dropped it when I suddenly came in and scared him. _Oops._

“No. Yes. I don’t know. But I think yes,” I eloquently respond.

“Oh, God,” he leans over the counter and facepalms. “You fucking scared me, man,” Tweek confesses into his hand.

I walk over closer to not be stuck by the door like an idiot but nearly trip over my feet attempting to do so. He reflexively puts his arms out to catch me even though he’s not close to succeed but it’s all good. I manage to not fall.

After that little attempt he walks over until he’s right in front, looking up at me. Funny, I’ve noticed he’s short, of course, but not like this. It’s kind of like not noticing your nose in your line of sight until you pay attention to it.

“Wow. You’re really short,” I think out loud. He comes up to my shoulder. Even my little sister is taller than he is, but she inherited my parents’ genes whereas it’s a lucky coincidence in my case. I wonder if his parents are as short as he it. Does coffee really affect growth because that would explain everything.

“Shut up. You’re a fucking beanstalk,” he grumbles and I would laugh but the whole height thing and him being in front of me when I could have sworn I was walking towards the direction of my house and comfortable unmade bed situation was still throwing me off.

“Why are you here? Not that it’s unwelcome for you to stop by but at,” he checks the clock on the wall, “practically 3 am?!” He does his failure of an eyebrow raise. Or it could legitimately be an intentional double raise in actual surprise. I don’t know.

“Dude. I don’t know,” I repeat and laugh at the hilarity of this weird ass turn of events.

“Do you want to sit?” He points towards one of the booths with his head and I nod gingerly.

He starts moving towards it and I follow but almost trip again, knocking into Tweek and he holds me to keep from falling. Okay, I’m not this clumsy when I drink, so I check and see that my shoelaces are untied and it makes sense. _Damn fucking bastards_.

Tweek lets out a groan in exasperation and leads me to the booth by the shirt, seating me down with a shove on my shoulders to make sure I stay there and don’t tip over. _I’m not that fucked_.

He sits in the seat across from me. “So, I suppose this,” he gestures to all of me, “is from the party?” he gives me a crooked smirk.

“Bingo,” I respond.

“Well, glad you had fun,” he laughs lightly.

Now that I notice it, the place is empty. The store is filled with a subtle smell of coffee and some baked goods that have probably, most likely, gone stale by now. I’m sure the aroma would be nice under other circumstances but right not it’s not mixing so well and I feel like I’m close to heaving, which Tweek notices and his face contorts into a look of panic.

“Please don’t puke,” he pleads through comically wide eyes.

“I’m not completely plastered, relax.” At east I’m pretty sure, but he takes it and relaxes.

“Good. Because if you do, I’m making you clean it up.” He gives me a once-over and I feel a slight chill down my back. “Or I’m cleaning it with your hat,” he adds with a menacing tone.

“Keep talking like that and I’ll aim at your face.” He scrunches his face in utter disgust but coupled with humor and he laughs.

“Don’t,” he says through light chuckling and I smile.

“Hold up,” he gets up and walks behind the counter. When he returns, he places a glass of water in front of me.

“Isn’t it supposed to be coffee that you give someone when they’re drunk?” I remember various movies and shows depicting that and it’s paling in comparison to the glass of clear liquid in front of me.

He shakes his head. “That’s a myth. Coffee dehydrates you. What you need is water.”

“If you say so.” He must know what he’s talking about when it concerns coffee and nods in approval as I drink most of it. Noticing again the emptiness of the whole store and how its only inhabitant is this short guy with seemingly permanent dark circles under his eyes, I ask, “Why’re you here?”

“This is my parent’s coffee shop?”

“No. Why are you here alone in the middle of the night.”

“Parents are out on business and I told them I could handle looking after the store,” he shrugs

“Aren’t you tired?” I know I am, or was.

He hesitates before answering. “No. I can’t sleep most days anyways, so it’s no big deal.” _Well, that definitely explains the dark circles._

“So staying here’s no problem.”

“Yeah, pretty much,” he drums his fingers on the table lightly and biting his lip in a way that I think looks a bit pensive, like he has something to say. So far, it’s been pretty alright hanging with him for the duration of the semester. The project was a breeze and I guess we’re friends now, so it makes this sudden visit not that weird.

“Hey, Craig?” he says hesitantly and I bring my attention back to him.

“Mmm?”

“I wasn’t going to say anything because it’s fucking rude to say it to others but there’s no way I can ignore it when you’re like two feet away and besides I feel like you wouldn’t care anyways,” he blurts out in one go.

What the hell was he about to say? _Did I actually barf on the way here and can’t remember so there’s some on my clothes?_ I don’t think I did.

“You breath reeks,” he grimaces. “Do you have gum or something that you can chew?” he knits his brows apologetically. _Well, I wasn’t expecting that to be what he was getting at_.

“Last time I checked I had a hoodie,” I try to remember. “There were mints in there, but I’m not sure, am I still wearing it,” I look down to check. “Yep. Still wearing it.” Reaching into the pockets I find the tin and take a handful of them. It kind of stings since I took a lot but it also really wakes me up, even though I feel somewhat groggy from the night. Briefly I think of texting my parents but they’re asleep so I just decide to go home whenever and suffer the consequences later.

As I keep chewing the mints, I lay my head on the surface cool the cool table, cheek cooling off with the temperature difference. I give a small sigh in relief and Tweek touches my cheek, poking it. The touch is warm and leaves a tingling sensation when he withdraws his finger. “Are you okay?” he says in a calm voice and I let out a mumbled unsure response.

“So how much _did_ you drink?” there’s amusement in his voice.

Still resting on the table, I tilt my head at an angle that I can see him. “Man, I don’t know. Not that much that I’m not completely shitfaced,” I can still make out what’s going on and shit’s not blurry so that’s good.

“Okay, but how much is that?”

“I don’t know, man maybe 5 or 10 drinks?”

“Hmm.”

Sitting back up, I ask, “Why, how much do you drink?”

“I don’t. Well, once I did but that was fucking horrible. Never again. Plus I shouldn’t mix it with my meds,” he purses his lips. I don’t ask further since I’m sane enough to think it might be a delicate topic he might not want to get at with someone he doesn’t really know. “But you’re good with weed,” I remember seeing him smoking at Bebe’s party a couple months ago.

“Yeah . . . It’s not really addictive and I don’t do it often, but yeah.”

“That’s cool. The first time I tried it didn’t work at all.”

“Me neither” he smiles.

“Yep. But the times after did. I think the best time I’ve gotten high was with Kevin and others while marathoning Star Wars. Shit’s a trip if you watch it high as shit.”

“Once I got high with Damien, Christophe, and Bebe and we went to a diner. I think the waitress hated us. But we just ate and talked over a shit ton of French fries. I ate so much that I think I’m set for a while,” he offers his own story.

“French fries with a French guy,” I snicker.

“Okay, then,” he tries to stifle laughing at the stupid joke by forcing his lips closed and looking around.

“You’re pretty cute, even if you can be a bit of a shithead” I blab. _God, am I usually this fucking talkative when I drink?_

“W-What?” He asks, voice kind of wavering. It’s usually kind of raspy but not like a smoker’s, and it’s not really low either and he speaks fast sometimes but can turn calm at times too; it’s a good kind of unique. But I just shrug noncommittally to the question.

“So do you always go to random people’s houses or businesses when you’re drunk?” Tweek tries to absolve previous comment.

“You’re not random,” I point out.

“But we’re not really close, are we?” he wonders out loud.

“Hmm. I don’t think so, no. At least not yet.” Wouldn’t mind being friends with him, more than we are.

“Yeah, we’re friends but not like the friends we have,” he agrees.

“We can start,” I offer.

“How do you propose we do that?”

“What’s you favorite color? Favorite band? Genre? Have you ever killed a man?” I ask the most basic of questions to get started.

“Isn’t close friendship supposed to be over time instead of being bombarded with a bunch of questions at once?”

“I don’t give a fuck. Now, answer the questions.”

“Gah, um . . . wait, give me a second. Color is green? Band is I don’t know, it changes a lot, genre of movie, which I think is what you meant, is really anything, and why would that even be a question, man?!” He lists the answers with his fingers to make sure to answer them all.

“Wow, Tweek. Great job. I can really feel our bond get stronger,” I monotonously tell him and he rolls his eyes. “Okay, you answer them then,” he leans back into the booth and crosses his arms against his chest.

“Fine. Blue, Nicki Minaj, sci-fi, and sadly, no,” I punctuate each response with a tap on the table.

“Sadly?”

“Don’t you feel like sometimes getting rid of someone in more than a metaphorical sense?”

“No! I’d be caught, when the hell!” Tweek uncrosses his arms and looks shocked thinking about the hypothetical action.

“I know that, but you gotta keep an open mind, right?” I kid and luckily he gets that I’m kidding so he doesn’t protest further. “There, at least we’re getting to know more about each other.”

“Well, besides all that, so far I know you play animal crossing and suck at Mario kart. That’s not exactly knowing you on a deep emotional level,” he cocks his head.

“Yeah. But what you _don’t_ know is I’m uselessly talented at air hockey” I wag my eyebrows.

“Really? Well, I take back what I said I feel like I’ve known you my whole life,” he sarcastically says.

“Damn right.”

“Man, I haven’t been to the arcade since elementary,” he stares out the dark window.

“We should go. I’d cream you at air hockey.”

“Sure,” he turns back to me and takes up the offer of getting his ass handed to him in the future.

“Okay, now you go. Something to share?” I continue our activity.

“Uh . . . I don’t trust nor understand museums?” He lets out hesitantly.

“What” I say but it’s more like a statement, getting caught a bit off guard by the topic.

“Okay, like, how do you know that you’re seeing a real Picasso or Monet?” he leans on the table, getting a bit closer and furrowing his brows. “There should only be one real artifact right? But there’s tons of museums in the world so they must have a copy of their own but then they have other works of art too and that cycle is repeated, one real among a bunch of fakes, so how do you know that what you’re seeing is the real thing? I mean, maybe they’ll tell you in tours but they could be lying about having the original Kahlo when the real one was sold on the black market decades ago!”

“Um. I have no idea . . .”

“Exactly!”

“I never really thought of that, I mean mainly when I think of museums is paintings and sculptures of dead people by dead people, and a lot of which are pretty gay,” I add in my personal thoughts on the matter at hand and he snorts in response.

“Not all of them. I mean, the Greeks and Romans were pretty loose with the whole heterosexual thing.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Like South Park.”

“I guess, yeah. Who would’ve thought there would be so many non-straight people here? Remember when it used to just be a couple and now there’s much more, many of which we grew up with,” he says.

“Who _isn’t_ gay in South Park?”

“It’s like a gay singularity”

“Must be something in the water,” I joke but Tweek just looks at me with terror in his eyes, actually considering it. “It was a joke,” I clarify.

“But it could be real, man! They already pump our water with chemicals so it’s a big possibility that they could be experimenting on us! Would it really be that unfathomable to think South Park isn’t capable of that?!”

“I guess not but still,” I seriously doubt that would even happen, right?

“Shit, man. I drink a lot of coffee, though not as much as before but it’s still a clusterfuck compared to other people! Do you know what coffee is, Craig?! Bean Water! Emphasis on water! Shit, maybe that really is the reason I’m gay,” he stares off, contemplating what he’s been ranting about.

“Okay, you need to get some sleep.” He seems like a kid hopped up on sugar, and who knows maybe he’s had a ton of coffee and the addition of not sleeping isn’t working in his favor. I mean, on some level it’s reasonable what he’s saying but it’s still farfetched. His theories aren’t as crazy as before and there’s some logic to it but this is still pretty out there. Thinking about what he said, it takes a while before something specific he said early on clicks.

“Wait, you’re gay?” I ask him, and he turns his attention back to me.

“Oh. Um, yeah.”

Well, I sure as hell wasn’t expecting that. Today’s been full of surprises. “That’s cool, I mean, I am too,” _if that helps_.

“Really?”

“Yep,” I nod.

“Well, I didn’t now that,” he looks me over and I shrug.

“Now we do. See, this bonding thing’s going great.” I rack my brain for a while before asking, “What’s a movie you remember when you were a kid?” I try to keep conversation going, which is surprising since I usually don’t initiate conversations all that much. But it might be the alcohol still in my system that’s making me talkative.

“Jeez, like movies from my childhood?”

“Yep.”

“The only ones coming to mind are Batman Returns, The Mummy, and Star Wars,” he thinks it over.

“My dad let me watch Child’s Play at an early age. Oh and Star Wars and Indiana Jones” I had a thing for Harrison Ford but didn’t realize until later that it was an actual thing besides wanting to be like him.

“How old were you?!” he looks surprised, and remembering what I answered, it must be about the scary movie he’s asking about.

“I don’t know, like 5?”

“Jesus! Didn’t it give you nightmares?”

“Nah. Horror movies don’t really faze me. You?”

“I’ll watch them but sitting through them is . . . difficult. Like, now one of my fears is being inside a car while going through the drive-in car wash because of one of the Final Destination movies” he scrunches his nose and I laugh.

“Is it wise to see horror movies with an overactive imagination?”

“Probably not but I still watch them, mainly because Damien likes them. They’re pretty funny to him. But it’s kind of like a desensitizing ritual, if that makes sense. Doing stuff to not be as paranoid of them, like sneaking out of your window at night,” he explains.

“Is doing parkour part of it?”

He laughs, “I’m not that ballsy to try that.”

“But you’re ballsy to sneak to people’s yards in the middle of the night to leave lawn ornaments and hightailing it out of there,” I lean back to see his expression at my knowledge.

“I, uh . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about.” _He’s a horrible liar,_ I laugh.

“Dude, don’t sweat it. I have that sucker in my room as decoration. Nice art skills, by the way,” I compliment him and he blushes a bit.

He looks anywhere but me; hazel eyes looking around in embarrassment. They don’t look as startling as they do in sunlight but still as interesting. The green and brown fuse fascinatingly and the large shape of eyes against pale skin make him look in a way like an alien. _Is that where the expression bug-eyed comes from, from big eyes that take up more space than usual?_

“Dude, you have like . . . big eyes. Not in a bad way, they look kind of like that one butterfly nebula, the green-brown is like the radiation in space that gives off pretty colors,” I ramble.

“Thanks, I guess?” he laughs sheepishly. “You have nice ones too, like how the clouds get grey before it rains,” he looks back and forth each eye.

Never heard that before. I don’t have the same eye color as anyone in the family, of course, so I would use to ignore whatever wasn’t the same as my parents or Ruby but being complimented in a genuine way like Tweek is nice. He’s pretty cool and nice and gives off a warm feeling.

 

[ . . . ]

 

Spending the night talking with Craig sitting in front of me sure as hell wasn’t what I thought was going to happen today. When I pulled him towards one of the booths by the door by the shirt like a mother to a child, or like anyone to a drunk person, I didn’t know we’d end up getting to know each other better and enjoying each other’s company.

“So you’ve actually skinny dipped in Stark’s Pond?!” I ask him, amazed at the information he’s given.

“No, that was Clyde,” he snickers.

“Wasn’t it freezing?!” It’s usually pretty cold in the water.

“It was during summer. But I wish I burn the image of his naked body off my mind,” he fake shudders.

“Poor you,” I tell him through a grin.

“Glad you think so too.”

“The cold is better than summer,” I think out loud. I have naturally warm body temperature that makes summer pretty unbearable, so air-conditioned places are my haven. _Ugh, it’s starting soon_. Now with school out the way, summer’s staring us right in the face.

“Yeah, but summer vacation trumps over winter, even though Christmas takes place at that time,” Craig tells me.

“Mmm, yeah. No school at all for almost two months and no worrying over finishing assignments,” I think it over. Having to concentrate being all sweaty on assignments would suck.

“Exactly! Pretty much two whole months of relaxing from now on,” he smiles fondly.

“So you have no plans from now on? Just lazing around?” I cock an eyebrow.

“Yep. And you?”

“Agh, yeah. Christophe, Damien and I took a small road trip last year and we’re doing it again.”

“Where to?”

“I don’t know, usually I would be freaking out over where we’re going but I decided to just let it go” We’re actually leaving the state this time, and I decided early on to worry about it when the time comes, which is pretty much here already. _Aww, man._

“And you’re fine with that?” he asks and I shrug. “I trust them not to get me killed.”

“Right. Having a powerful other worldly being must come with perks,” he smiles.

“I suppose, but it’s not like he teleports us, I’m not exactly for it, even though it’s harmless.”

“But it doesn’t make sense. Teleportation involves breaking down matter and rearranging it in another place, and that can’t be done perfectly so he should be missing pieces or radioactive or something” he tries to make sense of it, clearly taking it seriously and even his eyebrows come together to think it over, which makes me burst out laughing.

“He’s the antichrist living in South Park, it doesn’t have to make sense. This is like a Twilight Zone we live in, or at least was more like that back then,” I explain.

“Fuck, was all that real back then, it doesn’t feel like it” He professes what I’ve thought about a lot and I just nod.

“Things were pretty weird back then. But we did do normal kid stuff like the roleplaying.”

“Righ, yeah. Feldspar and the Barbarian,” he remembers from back then.

“What even was up with that name?” it didn’t make much sense back then and I never really asked what it meant.

He looks a bit sheepish, as much as someone not completely sober yet can get. He’s been showing emotions a lot more than before and it’s been an interesting experience, not that he’s emotionally distant or anything, just not overly expressive.

“It’s a mineral,” he finally says.

“What?”

“Feldspar’s a rock-forming mineral that makes up more than like half of the earth’s crust,” he explains.

“How’d you decide on making _that_ your alias?”

“It was in this one science book my mom bought me and I was a bit obsessed with it. It also had mineral facts about the rest of the solar system,” he adds.

This evening or whatever this postmidnight time frame is has been quite a ride. I now know that Craig Tucker is and has always been a nerd who wears space-themed t-shirts (definitely noticed that when he took off his hoodie). “That’s cute,” I smile at a small Craig deciding the name of a mineral’s cool enough to be named after it.

“What, you didn’t have things you were obsessed with back then?” he asks, trying to bring attention away from him.

“Legos I guess. I liked anything to keep my hands busy.” _And still do_. Some of my old legos are still in my care, littered around my room.

“So that explains you drawing.”

“Yeah. But it’s anything to grab my attention.” I try to think of something to use as an example that isn’t hands on, until I find it.

“Oh man, there’s this one weird Czech movie from like the 80s about Alice in Wonderland. But like the take on it is live action mixed with stop motion and puppets and shit like that it’s pretty artsy and surreal in a kind of creepy way. But like if you’ve read the actual Alice in Wonderland you can see how it captures the spirit of it, even though it’s not a true adaptation of Carroll’s novel.” I like to watch stuff like that and even get Christophe and Damien to watch them, but Bebe doesn’t really like that stuff. And since it’s not horror, it doesn’t let my mind go to bad places and manages to catch my attention without scaring me shitless.

“So even if it’s creepy it doesn’t get to you?”

“It’s not supposed to be scary, so no,” I look at him. He took off his hat that he was wearing a while back and I noticed black studs on his earlobes. Personally, piercing flesh for accessory isn’t my cup of coffee but it looks nice on others and it goes well with him, complementing his dark hair and tan skin.

He nods at the new information, not adding to it. “If you’d ask me, I wouldn’t have pegged you for someone into weird shit as a first impression. Speaking of first, what was yours?” He asks.

“My first what?” He didn’t really specify anything.

“Kiss” he says, straight-faced and cutting to the point without leading in to the question.

I laugh a bit nervously, but ask to specify, “Girl or guy?”

“Both. I’ll tell you mine first if you want,” he offers and I wave a hand to say, ‘go ahead.’

“Annie back in 3rd grade and then Thomas, but he isn’t into guys but he was cool about it.”

“Wow. Okay, uh mine was Red and Kevin back in elementary.”

“Red as in my cousin?!” he looks confused and asking to clarify.

“Yeah. And with Kevin I think we both wanted reassurance to something we were both thinking,” I try to remember all the way back.

“Maybe,” he says and I shrug. “I mean, he and Clyde have whatever it is going on.”

“Really? I don’t talk to Kevin that much but I didn’t know he and Clyde were . . .” I trail off.

“Together? Nah. Back then yeah but not now, or at least not yet.”

“Kind of reminds me of Bebe and Wendy/l.”

“Are they dancing around the topic too?” he raises a brow.

“Yes! But it’s their life, so” I finish with a shrug in a ‘what can you do’ kind of way.

“It gets annoying when he tries to get on my case about dating,” he makes a face.

“Are you against it? Dating?”

“Not really. I mean, I’ve had some hook ups with Stan and Kenny, back before they got with Kyle and Butters/Marjorine,” he over shares. What does hookup even mean? I don’t think he’d mention it if he meant it in a sexual way, so maybe it was like a make-up kind of thing? That’s what I usually think of, so probably.

“I get what you mean,” I hesitate before telling him. “I’ve ‘hooked up’ with Kyle and Christophe before but being in an actual relationship? Nah” _It’s too much pressure_. Besides, those were just make outs. With Kyle it was a couple times before he got with Stan and we’re still casual friends. With Christophe it was once before we were as close as we are now and nothing ever happened besides that.

“So you and Christophe hang out a lot?” he looks absorbed in thought.

“Well, yeah. He’s one of my best friends and Damien lives in hell and Bebe gets busy a lot sometimes.”

“Hmm.”

“Isn’t it the same with Clyde?” He’s always with him too.

“Yeah, but I’ve never made out with him,” he tells me, referring to what I said about Christophe.

 _That was only one time_. “So no takers on the relationship thing?” I ask curiously.

“Not that I’m aware, no. Why, have I seduced you with my extensive knowledge of space and shit?” he jokes.

“I don’t know, have I seduced you with my extensive knowledge of edgy literature based movies and shit?” I mimic and we break in laughter.

I’m really glad Craig came over; this is immensely better than staying by myself alone and getting worked up over nothing. I think I’ve decided I like his laughter and how you can see some lines around his eyes from up close. Maybe it’s the situation that made me suddenly think this – the combination of dawn approaching and Craig’s alcohol high wearing off – but it’s nice. Everything feels stretched out and kinda syrupy, like if we stepped into a feeling of altered reality like watching the sunrise on your rooftop, seeing no one outside and feeling like you’re the only one left on the planet; a feeling of significance and insignificance all at once.

Checking the time, I notice it’s late, or early, and decide I might open the shop later than usual. I tell Craig this and we move to leave; he waits while I close up and we walk out together until we have to part ways but not before making plans to hang out later sometime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two dorks unconsciously awkwardly flirting with each other at empty businesses in the middle of the night is what dreams are made of 
> 
> Idk how you write people liking each other, but I hope this was alright as their mutual crushes intensify from here on
> 
> Oh! And I headcanon that Craig wears NASA/space themed shirts under his hoodie most of the time and forgot to mention this in ch 2 (fuck I get forgetful when I upload on what to put in the notes). And I went with the 'craig listens to nicki minaj' headcanon
> 
> The film Tweek was talking about is called ‘Alice’ by Jan Svankmajer and I felt like it would be the type of thing he’d watch for some reason. I believe it might be on Netflix if you want to see it but idk, I watched it online without English subs [here](http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x2jjkww_alice-1988-neco-z-alenky-english-subs-part-1_shortfilms) if you’re interested. But there’s short clips on youtube you can check out too if you’re mildly curious


	6. Interventions for Dummies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it’s the last third of the story hopefully this romance thing doesn’t seem forced and/or too fast. I didn’t really plan this fic that much (lesson learned) and I’m a novice at writing but hopefully it’s not bad (??) The point of views parallel each other in a way, idk if that’s good or bad writing, but it’s anticipating the next event so I guess this is kind of a filler chapter??
> 
> But wowie. Boy, writing sure is hard. But I finished the semester and I’m ready to end this fic plus the fractured but whole news and the leaked twenty one pilots song for suicide squad got me pumped to finish this chapter quick so sorry for taking a while

Tracks:

Surf Curse – In My Head ‘Till I’m Dead

The Drums – I Don’t Know How to Love

 

 

“C’mon, man! That’s illegal! You can’t do that!” Clyde complains as he’s made to start over, loosing his place at the head of the race. We’ve been hanging out at Token’s this whole summer so far; the air conditioning in his house is a relief on the unusual heat in South Park. But it’s not that bad if you have a place to crash where it doesn’t feel like your face is melting, especially if the air conditioning doesn’t reach your room, leaving the hot stickiness of July to fester. So Clyde and I have made the Black residence our temporary home; even our parents have come to hang out a couple times, sharing drinks over the at-home bar while we play video games or watch movies at the home theatre.

“Dude, the blue shell’s legal; if it weren’t it wouldn’t be in the game inventory. Stop whining,” Token grins as he pulls in first, ahead of the two of us.

“Fine, it’s legal. But is it healthy for our friendship? No,” Clyde tries to argue, leaning his body towards the television in concentration from his seat at the floor by the edge of Token’s massive bed.

“This isn’t a game where we share pleasantries and hold hands. I’m in this to decimate both of you,” Token declares, unbothered by Clyde’s intensity and casually siting at the foot of his bed, amused at the reaction he’s getting out of Clyde.

“You’re cutting corners, cheater. Do you really want your victory to be about having used cheap tactics? Where’s your honor?” Clyde’s resorted to holding his controller with a death grip, intent on gaining the upper hand once more in the riveting game of Mario Kart.

“Yes. And as long as I can say I won, it doesn’t matter.”

“Spoken like a true lawyer,” Clyde mocks him.

“Dude, shut up. Craig’s not even complaining,” Token adds as he swerves through the digital road, avoiding Clyde’s attempt to regain his place. Not really caring much, I’ve fallen pretty behind, alternating between texting and paying attention to the big screen in Token’s room.

“Craig’s been dead last since the start!” Clyde then gives a quick glance at my direction, enough to see what I’m doing besides him but not enough to throw him off. “He’s not even paying attention! He’s on his phone.”

“Your point is?” I turn my head to him, setting my phone on the ground and laying back in the beanbag chair I claimed when we were ten; now definitely not even bothering to continue playing and just leaving the controller to relax on my stomach. At the TV, the only movements now coming from Peach are the default body motions when the characters are at rest.

“My _point_ is you’re too busy texting Tweek to make this game interesting. It’s just me and Token fighting it out while Princess Peach chills out at the back,” he remarks with a teasing snort.

“Not like a give a damn, this game sucks anyways. And how do you know I’ve been texting Tweek?” The race finishes not long after I ask this; Token ends up in first, beating Clyde by not much, which Clyde gave a small “fuck” in response. But with the game done, he fully turns to me and gives a pointed look that clearly is meant to say ‘are you kidding me?’

“Clyde’s right. And besides, _you_ just plain suck, not the game’s fault, man” Token tells me, which earns him a kick at his arm forceful enough to make him drop the controller out of his hand and onto the floor.

Seemingly unbothered by the rude but justified kick he continues, “But about the texting Tweek. Like, seriously? Who _would_ you be talking to if not him?” he adds, laughing.

“I don’t know, my sister?” She’s off at camp for the rest of the month so that might not pan out as a good answer. “A random stranger I met off the internet that’ll eventually lure me and sell my kidney on the black market? You know me, I love being friendly and spontaneous,” I add in a snide smile to emphasize I’m fucking around, not that it’s needed since the claim itself does a good job, but it’s just a little extra.

“Right. Because every time a Jehovah’s Witness comes to your house you don’t pretend you don’t speak English,” Token says through slight laughter.

“Would you prefer I tell them to fuck off?” I ask but it’s not like I’d be that much of a dick to do so, even if it would be the easiest way to avoid talking to them. Besides pretending not to be home.

“We aren’t telling you what you should do because it’s not like you’d do it anyways,” Clyde lays on the floor to get more comfortable; body facing us so we form a weird triangle.

“Glad we’re on the same page, then,” I throw the controller of my body next to where Token’s fell since it looks like we’re not playing another round anytime soon, not that I care.

“After a lifetime of friendship, I should hope so,” Token says.

“After a lifetime of friendship, I would’ve thought your wealth would rub off on us,” Clyde tells him.

“It doesn’t work like that,” Token rolls his eyes. “Are we still up for hanging out at the pool next week? So I can tell Kevin and Jimmy to meet us there,” Clyde asks as he takes a handful of chips from the array of junk food strewn out on the floor.

“Yeah,” Token confirms, but I’m not convinced. “Does it have to be the public pool? What’s wrong with yours?” I ask Token. I don’t feel like going where kids use it as a communal pissing territory.

“I told you it’s getting work done and won’t be done until the end of summer” he rolls his eyes. Did he really? Probably. “So for the next month it’s out of service,” I make sure.

“Yeah. So we need to find things to do for August. But we’d probably just hang out eating junk food and playing video games most of the time,” he takes one of the bags of chips and starts eating. “I don’t see the problem with that,” Clyde says through a semi half-full mouth of junk food, and continues, “At least we still have the senior bonfire at the end of vacation.”

“Right. That dumb thing,” I add my own opinion on the event. August could be like this month, full of nothing but of course I’m going to be made to go because of them. Even though it’s just a day near the end of the month, it already feels taxing, having to be around other people.

“You have to go, it’s a tradition. Or do you want to be cursed?” Clyde adds with an overdone voice of warning and a playful widening of his eyes.

“That tradition was started five years ago. That hardly even counts as anything. And curses aren’t real, Clyde. Besides being stuck with you the rest of my life,” I impassively tell him.

“Glad you realize I ain’t going nowhere,” he gives me a wide grin.

“Unfortunately,” I toss him a gummy worm from the bag besides me and hit him square in the face. “Love you too,” he smiles as he removes the candy from the side of his face and eats it.

“Okay, but as co-president I have to set up that day. Which means, you two have to help,” Token interrupts. “Oh, God. Are you fucking kidding me?!” I say at the same time Clyde lets out a, “Sure.” Goddamn why the hell did Token have to be part of the student council and drag us into that bullshit business.

“And no bailing, Craig,” Token predicts my future attempt and shoots down any plans of ditching the forced labor. “Fine,” I grumble. I’ve learned it’s easier to agree than try to resist; it’s not worth wasting energy on trying to diverge from his plans, or even Clyde’s.

“Well, gee. Don’t sound so eager,” he smirks like the dickwad he is. “It’s not exactly the most interesting thing to do,” I grab the bag of gummy worms from besides me and start chewing on them.

“But everyone we know will be there,” Token tries to sell me in on it, which is a huge mistake and the complete opposite of what you should tell me if you wanted my attendance somewhere. Definitely not convinced of it now that he mentioned we’d see people in our grade. We see them everywhere; the town isn’t that big, you eventually bump into someone when going out. “It’s away from the town, so we’ll all be stargazing,” he tries again. Okay, that had my attention or at least definitely more than the past selling attempt.

Clyde laughs. “Yeah. You can take that special someone and flirt all you’d like,” he wags his eyebrows suggestively. “You don’t know how to flirt,” I tell Clyde. It’s amazingly true; in middle school it was so bad I almost felt sorry for him but it was so fucking entertaining to watch.

“I wasn’t talking about me,” he tells me straight on. “And screw you, man, I have moves,” he tries to defend himself, the poor naïve bastard.

“That you’ll practice on Kevin?” Token asks with an amused tone in his voice, not yet laughing but almost there. “Whatever, screw you guys. I’ll do what I want and you,” he points the non-chip grease covered finger at me, “can geek out to Tweek over the stars. Maybe that’ll work on him.”

“Why would I do that?” I ask, ignoring the Clyde-like insult thrown at me.

“Because you’re obviously into him?” Token butts in.

“What. Why the hell would you think that.” I sit up, accidentally throwing the bag of candy to the floor.

“Maybe because you text him constantly and have been hanging out quite a bit. Wouldn’t surprise me if you’ve been awkwardly flirting with him over the phone.” Token says matter-of-factly.

“Probably something like ‘be the Leia to my Han’” Clyde sniggers.

“They’re both guys,” Token points out.

“Fine. Then ‘be the Luke to my Han.’”

“Why are we having this conversation?!” I question them, because this isn’t a turn I expected when I left the house and came over. It was supposed to be an uneventful day as always, playing games or watching shitty movies; same old, same old.

“Maybe because it’s true, dude,” Token uses his official tone, the one where he’s mainly explaining something obvious to others who are too slow to get it. Not exactly something you’d like directed at you, if you knew that’s what it was.

“But in what way do you possibly think I’d like him? We’re just friends,” I reason to them both but they exchange a look that says they don’t believe me and I want to throw something at them but the bag of gummy worms is already in the floor and my phone might crack. But the thought’s still there.

“Dude. Really?” Token raises a brow and I look to Clyde, who has his lips together to keep from grinning too much or laughing, or both. “Yes, fucking really,” I’m getting kinda ticked off at their behavior.

“You saved the picture he sent you while he was gone,” Clyde pointedly remarks and it takes me aback. “Why were you looking through my phone?!” I accuse him. That’s undoubtedly something you shouldn’t say so casually to someone who’s close to hitting you directly in the face with something, anything. “Blackmail material,” the asshole nonchalantly answers.

 _Don’t hit him_ , I try to calm myself, but I just grab a gummy worm from the floor and throw it as hard as I can at him, hitting him almost in the eye. “I could’ve saved that because it was funny. No ulterior motives, Clyde.” Tweek and I texted while he went on his road trip and the picture was a selfie of him looking petrified in a cave, surrounded by stalagmites. He looked like a deer caught under headlights; his eyes were so wide and he kept texting me what to do in case he really died, which was mainly to make sure no one brought him back as a zombie because he couldn’t live with himself if he accidentally ate someone he cared about. And then he was convinced that was actually going to happen, so I calmed him down by sending him short animal clips I found off YouTube.

“Really? And those prolonged looks you give him are what, friendly?” Token snickers at my outbursts and attempts to explain myself.

“Yeah, you aren’t as subtle as you think you are,” Clyde joins in and I feel heat radiate through my face. Has Tweek noticed? _Fuck, how could I be that stupid_.

I’ll admit I have thought of him in a more than platonic way at times. That one time we went to hang out as a group to catch a movie during Fourth of July because there was hardly anyone there, he was wearing a tank top and shorts and I’ll admit the sight of his bare arms was eye-catching. His shoulders had freckles that either have always been there or started showing up because of the sunlight and his hair was tied back into a stubby ponytail that showed off more of his face. Throughout the movie I’d sometimes look to the side to see him and that made my blood warm and fingertips tingle, but that was just teenage hormones, right? Or did I actually like him?

“It’s cool, man. Tweek’s awesome!” Clyde excitedly says, bringing me off my thought process. “Whereas you’re a rude dickwad,” he throws one of his chips at me. We’re making a mess, but whatever, Token’ll clean up and after their taunting it only seems fair.

“Thanks. Really feeling the support,” I monotonously tell him.

“So you admit you like him in that sense?” Token asks.

“I don’t know!” I declare, shrugging in exasperation. Tweek’s funny and nice and smart, and I’ve already accepted to be attracted to him. Does that already count as liking someone romantically? It seems like it. And I don’t feel forced to talk to him like with others or get fed up in his presence; everything’s comfortable and natural around him. Okay, _that_ definitely sounds like a confession. Fucking hell, how have I not noticed.

“Don’t strain yourself,” Clyde finally says after a while of silence, snickering so I flip him off.

“Okay, then, fine. Say I did like him. So what,” I tell them, slumping down further into the beanbag chair.

“ _Dude_! Then you’ve got to tell him!” He bolts up into a sitting position, ecstatic at my acceptance of feelings. _God, this is so gay._ But then, so is everything about my situation, including myself.

“Yeah. Pretty sure he’s interested too,” Token says. “Unfortunately he seems almost as oblivious as you, so he maybe hasn’t realized yet.” His observation fuels something in me. Did Tweek see me like that too? The very thought was enough to make me feel both electric and dreadful.

“And what do you expect me to do, ask him out? I literally just accepted to having feelings for him, I’m not gonna jump the wagon and risk our friendship this soon.” It’s not worth at this point to try anything.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Clyde comes close enough to pat my back like a child. “Calm your weary heart. We’ll help you since you’re about as romance savvy as a fish,” he offers. “Gee thanks but no thanks,” I can’t think of anything else I’d rather not do than that.

“Craig’s right, Clyde. Let him do it at his own pace,” Token tells the overeager brunet.

“But Token,” Clyde whines “that’ll take forever,” he slouches in defeat.

“Then maybe Tweek would square up first,” Token suggests.

“Once again, thanks for the vote of confidence, assholes,” I roll my eyes at them, crossing my arms over my chest.

“You’re welcome,” Token both good-naturedly and dickishly replies.

“So that’s it?” Clyde asks. “You’re just going to leave it at that?” he cocks his head and I sigh. Did I want to? “I don’t know.” What if I do and he doesn’t feel the same way. I’d just look like an idiot and lose a friend.

“Hey, man. You don’t have to decide now. It’s not like he’s going anywhere,” Token reassures me after noticing my change in mood.

“But just don’t take too long. Tweek’s freaking cool and it’d be awesome hanging out more with him. And what if someone else beats you to it,” Clyde comments and Token whips his head to him at an alarming speed. “ _Clyde_ ,” Token scolds him but it’s too late. Clyde has a point.

The conversation I had with Tweek at the shop late at night comes to mind; he’s had people interested, unsurprisingly, and even though he’s never been in an actual relationship, it wouldn’t be surprising if someone else saw him as a potential dating mate. Or even if he felt that way about Christophe, they did hook up once back then, he might have had feelings and they’re pretty close so it’s not exactly an impossible event that could happen.

“Fuck,” I rub my eyes with my palms out of frustration. The fuck with this shit, I didn’t need this fucking train of thought and emotions today, it’s a fucking Tuesday for fuck’s sake.

“Look, man. I’ll be real with you. Clyde does have a point, there could be a chance someone else might come into the picture. You never know,” Token calmly addresses me. How is this supposed to make me feel better? Token’s truthful and intuitive, observant in nature so he knows what he’s talking about. “But,” he continues and I bring my attention back to him, “I’m sure there’s some reciprocation on his part too. Just think it over, take your time,” he finishes and I nod my head, the only thing I can do at the moment.

Silence follows for a while; the sounds of the forgotten video game we were playing prior to the conversation we’ve been having come back in focus. Clyde lets out a whistle, “Well, that’s enough,” he turns to me, noticing the strain all this has taken on me and changing the focus of the evening. “Let’s play something Craig won’t completely suck at,” he moves to look for a video game from Token’s impressive collection and I could feel the relief flow over me as the conversation reaches its definite end, at least out loud.

“Yeah. Maybe no competitive games this time,” Token adds in, catching my eyes. “At least so he won’t give up immediately,” he adds and I give him a slight shove with my foot.

 

[ . . . ]

 

Sitting at one of the booths with Christophe, Damien, and Bebe at the coffee shop, I fight back slouching from where I’m sitting; it would ruin Bebe’s concentration and accidently make her smudge the fresh nail polish from the brush all over my finger. But the comfort from being out of the heat and into somewhere where there’s air conditioning is tempting. My parents think we don’t need something like air conditioning in the house since we spend most of our time at the shop, which is reasonable I guess, but the time not spent here working is being in my hell for a room, so hanging out here is the best alternative to burning alive.

“So you’re saying it’s not even this hot back home?” Bebe asks Damien but her attention is directed at making sure the green nail polish goes on neat on my fingernails. It’s not our shift and my parents are working the shop now so we all decided to loiter here with the industrial air conditioning system; an idea others seem to have as well since there’s quite a number of people around the coffee shop.

“Maybe to the humans but none of the demons, including me, feel any difference,” he waves a freshly dried black painted hand dismissively. The sounds of Amy Winehouse playing in the background fill the shop, all courtesy of Bebe. My parent’s have favoritism towards her so they let her pick out the music, even if she’s not working like how she is now.

“Hence the sweater,” she finishes her handiwork in order to turn to Damien and nods in the direction of his chest, still wearing the usual black ensemble, sweater included, even in the sweltering heat. Looking at him is both impressive and heatstroke inducing, considering he seems unaffected by any type of weather.

At our odd table he’s the one who stands out the most; it’s a table with exposed arms with one exception. I’ve resorted to wearing neither long sleeves nor pants most of this summer and next to me, Bebe’s wearing a sundress and flip-flops. Even Christophe has rolled up his usual cargo pants.

Sitting across from Bebe and I, Christophe says, absentmindedly picking at the already dried paint on his nails – it wasn’t going to last long anyways – with an air of composed indifference, “It’s probably to better catch sun on his pasty ass skin. Fucker looks like a bleached asshole.” The sudden comment leaves me to immediately throw my free hand over my mouth to unsuccessfully cover up laughter.

“Fuck you,” Damien turns his head to reply to the rugged mercenary next to him as Bebe lets out a “Tweek!” I check the hand and show it to her; her work got by unchafed but she still humorously gives me a slight slap on the shoulder for almost ruining her handiwork.

“You stop before I kick your ass,” she tells Christophe, pointing her manicured nail at him, but it’s unsure if she meant the comment or picking at the nail polish.

“That I would love to see” he replies, laying his hands on the table.

“I don’t know, she could probably take you on” I say. In order to stay in shape for cheerleading she works out and is pretty strong besides being curvy. She’d probably be able to hold her own in an actual fight, but hopefully she won’t ever have to.

“Damn right I could” she gives a wicked grin in response.

“Wise money would be placed on her side.” Damien agrees but mostly to tick off Chris.

“Enculés,” Christophe addresses us, “vous tous.”

“Aww, c’mon, I’d go easy on you” she puffs out her chest jokingly and he gives a snort, “Sure,” he says, and we leave it at that. She applies the finishing coat to dry the polish on the hand she was working on, the same she did to hers and Damien and Christophe, who let her do their nails too. Her small bag of equipment is in front of her, small bottles of the colors she used on us out of the bag.

“So, I’ve been talking to Wendy/l,” she finishes and puts her stuff away.

“Of course,” Damien says and she kicks him under the table because we hear a thump as his leg jerks up in response to the assault. Most likely out of surprise than pain since he has a higher pain tolerance that’s borderline nonexistent.

“Anyways, they’re setting up for the senior bonfire a couple weeks from now so do you guys want to hang out before and go together or are you busy with stuff,” she emphasizes ‘stuff’ to suit whatever business Christophe and Damien do sometimes.

“You’re not going with Wendy/l?” I ask.

“I’ll meet them there,” she looks at her hands on the table, looking struck like it’s more than just hanging out. “Like as in a date,” I press and she takes a deep breath and says, “Yes” quite confidently.

“Congrats,” Damien says and she beams. Well, good for her, finally making a move.

“So we hanging out then or what,” she asks us.

“As long as there’s no fucking dogs,” Christophe nearly snarls at the thought.

“There’s no wolves in Colorado,” Bebe says, confused as to why he’d be thinking of that and why that’s be a dealbreaker.

“Better not be, I fucking hate dogs,” Christophe says and I guess that’s him agreeing with going to the thing.

“A congregation of people on the verge of adulthood usually can end up in death one way or another,” Damien muses. “Is that a ‘yes’?” Bebe asks him. “Wait, no one’s going to die right?” she adds in, making sure like if there’s something to do about maybe death.

“I suppose so. And probably not. Probably.” He shrugs.

“I’ll take that as a no. Great. And you?” she turns to me “you’re not working that day right?”

“I’m not. I guess I’ll go, Clyde asked me a couple days ago too,” though he asked profusely that I would’ve still gone even if the guys and Bebe didn’t just to not disappoint him.

“Clyde did or Craig?” she asks with an entertained look on her face.

“Clyde did,” I hastily reply to the weird question. After getting close to Craig, we started hanging out a couple times as a group too. But Clyde seems to think of me as a nice friend and I like that he’s nice so we’ve texted sometimes, but not as much as I do with Craig. With that in mind, I resist the urge to check my phone for any messages.

“So you’re gonna hang out with them that day,” she asks but it seems more like she’s telling me. But I look to the guys to see if they were thinking of hanging out with Craig, Clyde, and Token like we’ve done before. “I don’t know, maybe?” The past times we have hung out this month were alright and I think it’s not that bad, but I don’t want to make them do something just because I’m the one that has ties to that group.

“Are you sure that’s why they’d ask,” Damien smirks and Bebe nods. “It’s a ploy, you think?” she asks him, “To get the hot blond and sweep him off his feet?”

“Single out the target and attack,” Christophe continues, “simple, easy, and effective.” _What the fuck are they talking about_. I didn’t tune out the conversation, I’m sure I’ve been following it so what it this it sounds like someone’s getting assassinated. “As long as no one gets in the way,” he finishes. _Oh fuck. I was right_. They aren’t going to kill anyone right?! I doubt Bebe would be up for that, seeing as how she’s more sensible than them.

“Then you’d better keep your distance, asshole” Damien turns head to talk to Christophe.

“Ah, jealousy?” Bebe asks with a brow quirked up and lays back in her seat, a delighted expression scattered on her face and Damien and Christophe laugh. “Oui. Goldilocks here probably told him about that one and only time we shoved each other’s tongues in our mouths,” Christophe informs her with a sneer.

“Oh wow,” she giggles “No wonder he’d be jealous.” Okay, no murder. At least I think so. God, what is this conversation.

“Okay, can you all fill me in on things,” I finally decide it’s no use trying to figure out where I lost them, _if_ I lost them, and just demand to be included in whatever they’re talking about.

“We’re talking about Craig being jealous of you and Christophe at the moment,” she informs me.

“W-Why would he be jealous?” I ask, startled at the actual topic of the discussion and I can feel a sliver of warmth slowly easy into my cheeks.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Damien says and the others laugh. _What the hell’s going on._ “Am I missing something?!”

“Oh nothing, just that Tucker’s been, what’s the term,” Damien thinks it over, tapping at the table with blackened nails in a humorous attempt to think what he was going to say.

“He wants to fuck you,” Christophe bluntly says before Damien can finish his thought.

“ _What!_ ” I feel my whole face burn up. That’s ridiculous, right?!

“Christophe! Don’t freak him out,” Bebe says through laughter and when I turn to her she shakes her head and manages a short ‘sorry’ through her laughter. Oh man, they’re all in this; they’re just trying to poke fun at me right?!

“That’s one way to put it,” Damien says with a smirk.

“To put _what_?! What the fuck are you guys on about?!” I demand

“Oh, sweetie, you really haven’t noticed?” Bebe tells me as if she’s apologizing to a kid for making fun of them.

“Can you guys please for the love of fuck tell me what’s going on,” I beg them.

“Let me ask you this first, do you like Craig?” I move to answer, of course he’s a friend why would I not, but before I can open my mouth she holds up a hand. “Not as a friend,” she clarifies.

Oh. Would I be able to actually think about what’s been in the back of my mind for a while now? Or has it been plainly in sight and I’ve just been ignoring it to the best of my ability? I know the constant checking for new messages or looking forward to a possible hang out either with others or alone together isn’t something you just do with normal friends. That the racing feeling is abnormal to the platonic. But saying something out loud or acknowledging it is accepting it’s truthfulness and was I ready to say that I did like Craig in a deeper sense? Or at least admit it to others since I was sure I already knew the answer.

Maybe it shouldn’t be something to think over. “Okay so maybe I do. But what now?” I hesitantly tell them.

“Use a condom,” Christophe offers.

“And lube,” Damien chimes in, not skipping a beat.

“No!” Bebe immediately addresses them and I’m about to thank her for being rational before she continues in with, “Well, yes, but not at this point in time.”

“ _Bebe_! Not you too,” I groan and she just snickers.

 _Well, I don’t know what I was expecting, knowing them._ But more importantly, how did this get like this? Like, how did I develop feelings for Craig? Not that he’s bad, but every time I’ve almost thought about thinking about it I’ve gotten discouraged, but now that it’s in the open there’s no holding back. I mean, yes, I admit my initial thought when we met was that he was attractive but what exactly was it that made me like him more than just as friends? Was there even anything? _Oh god, why is this complicated?_ Or am I making this complicated?

Thinking back to all these months since our first meeting, I can think of some ways we started getting closer. But was it one specific event or did all these interactions have some kind of part to play in this? If there was definitely one to place the blame on it would probably be the football game. Or the time he came drunk and we hung out until the sun practically came up.

Or maybe that one time he came to the coffee shop a while back and he bought me a muffin when he learned it had been my birthday a couple days before. The dork bought me a muffin _from_ me since it was my shift and it was one that I helped my mom make before opening the shop. Even after I told him I could eat and drink whatever I wanted he still shrugged. _God, do I really like him?_ Yes. I do.

I groan, submitting to my feelings. “So then court him,” Damien tells me.

“Court? What, do I have to give dowry to his parents eventually?”

“Fuck you.” He says and I smile halfheartedly.

“Whatever. It’s not like he’d feel the same anyways,” I finally admit as I slump at the table, laying my head on my crossed arms. All I can see now is my forearm and one of my hands; the pale skin makes the slight bruising on the knuckles stand out as well as the band-aids from nervously picking at my hands and clumsily handling at supplies. Tough slight, the bruising from my forearms is still visible from the last time I had a panic attack; I’d called the last person on the calls list, Bebe, and she came over to hang out after and make sure I was alright. _Not exactly marks of beauty,_ I think to myself. Who would want to be with someone not . . . there. I’d say not normal but that’s not it. I need certain things others don’t; I’m more to handle that sometimes I can’t even do much about it.

Besides, Craig’s been acting weird lately whenever we hang out and it’s making me kinda nervous. It’s kind of like he’s keeping his distance to not be that close and sometimes he has a far off look like he’s deep in thought. _Did I do something wrong and haven’t realized?_ I don’t want him to hate me or stop hanging out. And if he’s like this maybe doing something about my feelings towards him isn’t a good idea. _If I was going to do something, that is._

“You’re being negative about this,” Bebe places a hand on my cheek and the contact makes me feel a bit better, but not much.

“Really? Because I find self-deprecation helps in these trying times,” I give a short breathy laugh. I know I shouldn’t be so down about this but it’s not like there’s a switch to stop thinking of things.

“Mais merde quoi.” Christophe tells me and I move my head to look at him from across. “Fucking stop being a little bitch, pardon” he gives Bebe an apologetic look – as apologetic as he can – and turns back to me, “and either do something or don’t. It’s that simple to do at this moment and you can change your mind later,” he finishes by flicking my forehead. “Crétin,” he gives a suggestion of a smile.

He’s right. “Then no. Now can we change the subject?” I sit back up and look around. A coffee shop with my parents at the counter and people around isn’t the place I want to think things over, I decide, and I’d rather think things over by myself and figure out what to do, or at least what to do for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 7 and 8 will be a continuous event since this story’s coming to an end; it’s the bonfire in case you weren’t sure


	7. Existentialist Fueled Romantic Tension

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter would've gone up sooner but i've been stuck with horrible back pain that made every movement, especially sitting down, painful. so sitting for an extended period of time to write was near impossible until i felt better. it still hurts but it's getting better.
> 
> thank you to everyone who's taken the time to read and special thanks to those who've left kudos and/or comments, they really feel reassuring. i know it's silly but sometime i think the only reason people read is to watch this crash and burn so having reassurance is nice, so thank to those who've shown kindness :)
> 
> this chapter is the shortest but pretty important. there's mentions of their past and stuff, so it gets personal

Tracks:

Beach House – Rough Song

Elliott Smith – Between the Bars

 

 

The trek to the outskirts of town to get to the bonfire site wasn’t too long, considering the size of the town. Hell, it’s a manageable walk from home but we still decided on getting there by car; Christophe and Bebe in the front and Damien and I in the backseat driving through the road by the forest part of town. Since it’s a bonfire, it’s supposed to start late at night so when we arrive the sun is getting ready to set, plundering the sky in darkening orange.

When we get there, after walking through the mushy soil and bunch of trees, we come across a clearing where the new senior ritual takes place. It’s pretty much everyone in our grade and there’s people scattered all over plus the most noticeable things are a keg and a pretty big fire at the center. For a while it’s mainly me hanging out with Christophe and Damien since Bebe has a date, and a bit with Butters/Marjorine and Kenny before they go of with their own friends, until I spot Craig, and we all hang out together.

Everyone’s off with their own group of friends but after a while it starts to loosen up and everyone crowds around the fire, red plastic cups of alcohol visible on most hands. I decide not to sit so close to it for fear of accidentally setting myself on fire or something like that. Sure I’m friends with the antichrist who’s keen on setting random things on fire sometimes but that’s different, since he can control it. So I sit close enough to feel the heat of the campfire and Craig sits next to me, which I try not to look too pleased at.

After it gets completely dark, the people who put the whole shebang together (Token and Wendy/l mainly) bring out the food necessary to make s’mores and the sounds of talking and laughter fill the night. We all spend time talking until our friends go off, Damien and Christophe probably somewhere less noisy, so it’s Craig and I talking about random things. He points out the visible constellations in the sky from memory and I eat up every word he spills, amazed at his knowledge of the galaxy.

Ever since I admitted to having feelings for him a couple weeks ago I’ve been in a perpetual state of either deciding to do something and deciding not to. One day, I feel ready to text him we should hang out together and plan out how I’d try to tell him I liked him but the next I’d just chicken out and keep talking about whatever we’d be texting about. Fuck, these past weeks have been so nerve-wracking I feel like I’ve been metaphorically pacing around this whole time.

Now, with him next to me I’m even more confused. What is the right thing to do in my situation? It’s great being his friend but in case my feelings towards him do come out and aren’t reciprocated it’d just mess everything up. Good friends are hard to come by; everything’s natural with him that I’m too hung up on not ruining everything. My inner turmoil is interrupted when it’s suggested everyone tell horror stories or share urban legends and I freeze. Horror’s not by best genre, and already feeling on edge from overthinking in addition to having drunk a metric shit-ton of coffee before coming here and on the verge of passing out from an extended period of lack of sleep, staying to listen would make things worse. _I need to bail._

“You wanna get out of here?” Craig asks, which nearly makes me jump out of my seat. He had leaned over as close as possible to ask quietly and privately to my ears only. The warmth of his breath and chocolate and minty smell of it was all my senses could pick up; it was intoxicating and I forced myself to remain calm at the thrill of having him near. I looked around and no one was paying attention to us, they were all wrapped in their own little worlds with friends or people they were interested in and the thought that we were left to our own devices – privacy in a place full of people – so long as no one heeded us any mind was exhilarating.

 _Stay calm. It’s just a friendly suggestion._ He must’ve noticed my uneasiness at what everyone wanted to do next. He’s experienced first hand how bad I can get with scary movies, so it must be that he’s avoiding another dose of that. Or he’s bored out of his mind and wants company since Clyde and Token are off with Kevin and Jimmy, probably thinking of what story to tell everyone. _There’s no other meaning, stop overthinking,_ I tell myself.

I compose myself and turn to nod at him, and he returns it with a quirk of his lips, which I copy. “Wait, let me tell Christophe and Damien,” I remember as we stand to leave. I came with them and it’d be pretty shitty to leave without telling them. I see them off with Bebe and Wendy/l close by and immediately catch their eyes. I nod over to Craig, and mouth that I’m leaving, to which they respond with smirks and mischievous glints in their eyes. I mentally tell them to shut the fuck up, hoping my cheeks haven’t heated in response to their insinuation and Craig and I start to head off.

“You okay?” he asks as we walk away and head towards the road back to town. I don’t think he brought his parents car, so we’re most likely walking back home, but it’s not that bad. It’s light enough to see where we’re walking.

“Yeah. Just don’t want to go through listening to whatever it is they’re going to say,” I tell him as we keep walking through the canopy of big trees around us.

“That’s probably a good idea. The last time we tried watching a horror movie you kept thinking it would happen for real. It wasn’t even scary,” he laughs at the memory. Though it’s not that bright out, I can tell his genuine smile reached his eyes, creasing a bit at the corners and his raised lips accentuate his cheekbones in a way that makes my breath catch in my throat at times. _Get a grip, Tweek._

“Hey, man. You can’t tell me there’s zero chance shit like that wouldn’t happen,” I challenge him.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure. At least now I won’t have to keep sending you youtube clips or pictures of animals to distract you,” he teases.

“You enjoy doing so, shut up,” I quip back and I’m positive it’s true. He seems to have an arsenal of different videos to watch and he’s even shown me old pictures of his deceased guinea pig which were actually very cute themselves and cute that he has so many.

“Plausible deniability, dude,” he brushes the comment off but his tone suggests I was right, which fills me with pride, knowing he likes spending time with me as I do with him.

“Whatever,” I tell him, trying not to grin by pressing my lips together and we keep walking. When we reach the road, the reflective pavement markers offer some light as we make our way back to town. It’s a walk filled with pleasant silence and sometimes the occasional remark like when we see a crow and point at it so the other can see it. But other than that, it’s nice walking in the semi cool air now that summer’s ending with Craig at my side and no one around. Kind like we’re in a pocket away from civilization.

“It’s weird sometimes,” Craig says and I look at him, curious at what he’s choosing to talk about. “The silence of the town, like we’re in some movie reel that’s stuck in a transition place, showing empty scenery. Like there’s no one but us,” he says as he looks out at the view. We can see the town nearby but where we’re at now looks more like a mouth of green swallowing a town, even though it’s been growing in population and buildings the past decade. But it’s still small enough that doing something like what we’re doing – walking from a vacant field away from people into the town – is manageable.

“Almost like a cosmic confinement” I add absentmindedly and through the corner of my eyes I can see him nod. “But sometimes more like cosmic freedom,” he says and I turn to see he’s already looking at me. I turn my head away, embarrassed for some reason. I should stop trying to read into his actions, he’s hard to pinpoint sometimes and I should just stop getting worked up every time we’re together. God, what if he already knows but isn’t saying anything because he doesn’t see me that way. That’d be humiliating.

We continue walking, getting to town and walking through closed shops and buildings at the edge of the town boundaries before I ask, “Do you think our parents felt this way when they were our age?” I’ve been thinking about what we said earlier, about feeling away from everything. For a point in my life I obsessed over trying to understand my parents, mainly after the fiasco about what went on behind their business, but I’ve never really been able to understand them that well. Sometimes I’d go through town thinking if they walked the same exact steps and if our thoughts would overlap through a warp in time and we’d be in sync.

“Don’t know, maybe. But I’d have more trouble thinking that,” he replies and we look at each other, me confused at what he meant and him pensive over whatever it is he’s thinking about. I ask him if he’s okay and he looks me in the eyes before exhaling a short breath. “My parents adopted me. I was about a year old when the adoption pulled through,” he just states, but I could see he didn’t know how to say the words he wanted to before let them out.

“I didn’t know you were adopted,” I quietly tell him.

“No one does. Except Clyde and Token. I didn’t know for most of my life,” he just looks distantly at the emptiness of the streets around us.

“How did you find out?” I find myself asking without thinking. I probably shouldn’t pry but it just slipped out, but thankfully he doesn’t seem bothered or hesitant to share his private information with me.

“I had my suspicions, I mean, I sure as hell don’t look like either of them nor my sister,” he says. He has a point, his skin is darker that theirs and hair and eye color don’t match. It’s even more noticeable up close, and when I met his sister and parents a while back ago when we were hanging out at his house, I just thought he inherited recessive genes or something. But they’re so similar, they all seem to carry the same reserved aura but are cool once you get to talk to them. That and they somehow all share a knack for flipping each other off and spouting profanities at each other, even if just casually and without malice. So I didn’t really think why it is he didn’t share their same appearance, even if he was tall, since his family seems close and share habits.

“I confronted them in middle school, and they told me everything,” he shoves his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

“Are you okay?” I ask, noticing he looks a bit tense. He turns his head a fraction in my direction before looking at the ground. “I said some shit things to them, Tweek. Back then I lashed out at them; I even got into fights at school. I was so fucking pissed they never told me,” his tone was regretful and filled with old pain that I could clearly see with the streetlights as our only companions.

“You were still a kid, Craig. Going through middle school, all the new hormones, you shouldn’t be too hard on yourself,” I all but whisper, hoping the comforting tone helps. He gives me a small smile that I’d almost not catch if it were any darker out here or if I wasn’t paying much attention to him.

“Yeah. Things are okay now, but it doesn’t change what I said,” we’ve slowed down walking and I nearly reach over to hold his hand or squeeze his wrist but decide against it, not sure if it’d be okay plus they’re out of reach, so I loose courage to do so as I think it over. But I find familiarity in what he’s saying, about how he’s said things he regrets.

“When my parents,” I begin but it comes out croaky, so I clear my throat and try again. “When it got out. What they were doing. I felt so betrayed; they gave me hard drugs for all my life up until I was ten, they essentially fucked me up, made me a mess” I didn’t realize we stopped walking and the sensation of pressure on my arms hit me. Craig also stopped walking, and was now looking down at me with worry, so I attempt to relax and let my hands fall to my sides so I can try again.

 

[ . . . ]

 

“You don’t have to say anything because I told you something personal,” I tell him. He really didn’t. The only reason I shared something personal was because it felt right; feelings for him aside he’s still one of the closest people I feel comfortable with and who I don’t feel tired being in the presence of. And looking at him getting agitated at whatever it is he’s remembering isn’t how I want to make him feel.

Looking up at me, he shakes his head. “It’s fine. I want to,” he admits softly and I give him my full attention so he can continue.

“I went through a period of self-degradation and anger. The fact that their rehab didn’t last nearly as long as mine did, even though they’d been taking it for longer, was a slap in the face,” he narrows his eyes slightly. I remember the news being big around town in middle school but I never paid any attention; I was going through my own shit at the time and since Tweek wasn’t really my friend I didn’t care to know how he was. But even though I know there’s nothing I could do I still wish I cared enough to have been there for him.

“After we ‘got better’ they were more attentive but they still acted unbothered by everything and it pissed me off more. I was so angry at them and they wouldn’t understand why I was so angry,” he exhales. “I snapped one day. I don’t remember what we were talking about and it went off to me practically screaming at them. They still weren’t really getting it and the next thing I know I punched my dad,” he looks ashamed at what he’s saying of what went down.

“It’s not your fault. Like you said, the mix of those excess hormones and what you went through were part of it,” I tell him. But even without those factors, it’s not unreasonable what he did.

“I know, but it doesn’t change how I feel about it.”

“I know,” I confess. Even though everything’s fixed at home it doesn’t change what I said to my mom and dad and what I did even if I mainly put everything behind. It still lurks in the back of my mind and it gets overwhelming sometimes and I feel like shit even if my parents have said they forgive me and care about me. So I know how Tweek must feel even if our experiences have been different. They occurred around the same time and through some shit circumstances we’re more in sync than we thought, like a weird sort of fate that’s brought two people who can understand so much about each other and are now learning of it, if you can believe in something like fate.

“We went to a family therapist and after a couple years I think it helped. Maybe it was them finally trying to understand how I felt that made things better, but I’m not sure,” he bites his lip out of habit. “I never doubted their love for each other, and I know they’re trying and I’ve forgiven them and all, but sometimes I’m not sure if I can actually forgive them completely.”

The confession is unexpected but considering what he’s been saying it’s not that surprising. It seems like something he’s hasn’t said out loud so much, the truth behind his words seemed like they were unpracticed vocally but perfected consciously. “Are they still like before?” I ask, wanting to know if he feels this torn up in his own home, around the parents he spends a great deal of his life with. Not sure what the answer is fills me with a growing sense of wanting to protect him.

“They’re good now, but sometimes I get paranoid they’ll go back to how they were,” he gives a half-hearted smile that’s both reassuring but gut-wrenching at the thought he could feel this way for even a moment. “They act more like parents than they ever have; they’re pretty great. They’re not as aloof, but sometimes it seems like they’re still sometimes not there. What if they go back to how they were, I think sometimes.”

“Even if they do, you have people that care about you,” I confidently say.

He gives a small smile. “Yeah. After all that I was able to make some friends. Friends I trusted enough to tell them the truth,” he bumps his shoulder to me, signaling that I’m one of the lucky few who he’s given his trust to feel safe with his thoughts and unfortunate past.

“What do you mean?” _Truth_ is an odd way of putting things.

“You don’t think I don’t know what people say about me? It’s not nearly as bad as before but I know there’s other versions of the Tweak meth scandal and rumors about me and name calling,” he laughs dismissively. Fuck, I’ve never paid much attention to the stupid gossip of the town so I don’t know what things assholes have said about him or how bad it used to be. _If I ever hear anything about him I’m gonna kick the shit out of the mouth it came from_ , I promise myself.

“I don’t really care about that though,” he says and it’s so like him, he’s strong even now, head lowered and looking spent. He might not believe it but there’s a resilience to him that could bend the laws of the universe; a hidden fire behind his radioactive hazel eyes.

We stay in silence for a moment that seems to stretch out longer than it probably is. “I want to take over the family business,” he confesses, bottom lip caught between his teeth. “I don’t know if it’s wrong to want to do so after all I went through. I like it and know I can do it, but is it because it’s all I know?”

He looks tired and worn out and without thinking my hand reaches for his. When our skin makes contact, he jolts but before I can retract my hand back he grasps it with his. I lace our fingers together and give him a small squeeze in reassurance and he gives a small smile in return that makes my chest compress.

“Parents are . . . difficult. You can choose what you want to do, to forgive them or not. Just because they’re your parents doesn’t mean you have to accept them, faults or not.” He might know this already but maybe hearing it said out loud can offer some reassurance. I don’t know how to make people feel better, but I want to try for him. “And you don’t have to decide now on everything, you’d go mad,” I give him a small laugh and he returns it.

“I know but I get so confused and in my head that I don’t know what to do and it scares the shit out of me sometimes.”

“You have me, if you feel like that we can talk more,” I can’t do anything about his thoughts but I can be there to listen whenever he needs it.

“Thanks,” he says as we continue walking through the emptied streets, hands still laced together.

“Do you sometimes think of how things would be different,” I think out loud, glancing at our hands momentarily. “In an alternate timeline we would’ve known each other since the beginning. It wouldn’t have taken this long to get close, we could’ve been together this whole time.”

“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t want you to think my parents are horrible, I love them and things are good that I don’t want them to change. It would be nice though, having grown up together as actual friends. But this is nice too,” he says and I feel a small grip at my hand that’s intertwined with his, making my heart race. I avoid looking at him.

It’s a relief to hear the relationship with his parents isn’t awful and what we’ve disclosed to each other has been things we haven’t said our loud too much and that we’ve mainly put behind us. Being close to him on this level is pretty fucking great; sharing a significant part of who you are and your experiences with someone you care a lot for is something I could never really imagine before. It’s different with him than with my closest friends.

I try to think over how things would be like, if we were friends from the start and if I’d develop feelings for him like I did now. Would we be one of those nauseatingly cute childhood sweethearts? I don’t think I’d mind it that much if it was with him, but we both aren’t ones for pda, so it probably wouldn’t be like that. But who knows.

Or would it take longer to realize the hypothetical relationship was more than platonic. If we would have grown up together since we were babies would I have even been able to realize if I felt more towards him than friendship? Fuck, knowing me probably yeah. I didn’t even know I liked him until I thought about it. Hell, maybe there wouldn’t be any special emotions I would feel towards him and we’d remain friends like how it is with Token and Clyde. _Wait, Token . . ._  
“Fuck. I forgot I was supposed to stay over at Token’s,” I mentally face palm. It completely went over my head. All I had in mind was spending some time with Tweek that I forgot up until I paid them some thought. We’re at the opposite side of where Token lives and I pat both pockets of my jeans with my free hand, hoping I packed the keys to my house but they aren’t there.

“Fuck. I guess I’ll call home and wake someone up to let me in,” maybe Ruby’s still awake. She’d be pissed if I wake her up but I don’t give a shit, it’s not like she has plans in the morning. I’ll just suck it up and text her to open the door even though she’s definitely going to give a short rant filled with expletives, the Tucker way. _Oh fucking well._

I turn to him and he gnaws his lips before he says, “You can stay over, if you want. I-I mean, you don’t have to but just so you won’t wake your parents or Ruby up,” he seems nervous about what he proposed, and not gonna lie I do too. But it’s the best option I have.

“Yeah, okay, sure,” I accept and we head off in the direction of his house, feeling a lump in my throat at the thought of spending the night with him.


	8. If You Feel The Way I Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a couple sensitive topics for the really brief backstory on christophe and damien that i decided to include like mention of abortion and suicide, it's brief (i wanted them to have some backstory and why they're friends with tweek) but you can ignore that paragraph if you want, it'll still make sense if you skip it. it'll be the one beginning and ending with the *

Tracks:

Beach House – Somewhere Tonight

 

 

For the rest of the way to Tweek’s house we kept our hands clasped on each other’s, not breaking contact and neither of us mentioned anything about it, we just kept walking hand in hand. Maybe if something was said about it the whole experience would be ruined and the topic of why we kept holding on to each other would come up, and maybe our answers as to why wouldn’t match up. But we didn’t and we kept walking, only breaking contact as we made it up the short steps to the front of his house so he could get his keys and open the door. I felt a slight clamminess to my hand and if he did too, he didn’t mention it.

Stepping into the Tweak house, he calls out but there’s no answer. “Parent are still working I guess,” he says. “Do you want something to drink?” he asks as he makes his way to the kitchen and starts up the coffeemaker near the sink area, putting enough for one cup of coffee. “Water, I guess,” I reply. I don’t really care much for coffee, something that’s unbelievable to him since he grew up on the stuff, so he didn’t bother making for more than one person. Once he hands me a filled glass and pours his drink into a plain mug, we head up the stairs to the second floor.

I’ve never been in his room, and as we’re walking up the stairs the realization must’ve dawned on him; his shoulders tense a bit as we make it to his room. We take off our shoes and leave them in the hallway. With an unoccupied hand on the doorknob, he apologetically says, “Sorry ‘bout the mess,” but I just shrug. It’s no big deal; sometimes my room gets pretty messy before I bother to tidy up.

But his words didn’t really prepare me for what was behind the door. There’s a semi-made up bed that doesn’t look like it’s been slept in but has been sat on, mugs and other things (are those paint brushes?) out of place, clothes littered around the floor and a laptop right in the center of the floor which he bends down to place on a table by the door. However, the most striking thing is the drawings done in pencil, paint, and crayons; basically any type of medium. And they’re not just on the table and pinned on the wall; they’re everywhere, including the floor and random things painted on the walls themselves.

“ _Dude_ ,” is the only thing I manage to get out, still awestruck over everything.

“Told ya,” he replies and I look down to see a sheepish smile as he looks out at his room and takes a drink from his coffee. “It’s cool,” I promise and he seems relieved at the words. The fact that I could act as some kind of calming presence to him is comforting, since it’s the same for me.

“So, what now?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Talk until we go to sleep?” he narrows his eyes like the idea is too confusing to get a hold of. Which probably is, since he’s told me about his insomnia and judging by the state of his room, he usually gets up to other things at night. But he looks ready to knock out soon, his eyes look way more tired than usual; a feeling I know since sometimes I decide to stay up late or even forget to sleep if there’s something I’d rather do.

“Okay, then,” he places his mug on the table with other mugs and moves over to his bed and sits cross-legged. I do the same, placing the full glass next to his cup and copy his stance so we’re both sitting facing each other on his full bed. _At least there’s room for both of us_ , I think. God, having a twin bed sucked up until I convinced my parents to buy me a bigger mattress. Being tall is not easy.

“Anything in particular you want to talk about?” I ask him.

“Not sure yet,” he says amused. I let out a hmm, and just go back to looking over the room.

“No fucking way, is this Andromeda?” an in progress painting in the wall by his bed catches my attention. “And this is Perseus,” I motion over to the left of the constellation that initially caught my eye. “And this is Pegasus,” I trail my fingers over the original piece of art I started but head to the right, besides Andromeda where the familiar group of stars is. “This is awesome,” I look over to him, who remained seated on the bed and I notice I was perched on my knees from the excitement.

“Yeah, you keep talking about space that I got a bit interested,” he explains wit a small smile.

“So you painted a mural of the sky for yourself,” I ask but it’s more of a statement and he nods.

“Well this sure gives my glow in the dark constellation stickers I put on my ceiling a run for their money. Unless this is glow in the dark paint. It’s not, right? Because it’d be game over for me and I might have to make you do the same in my room. And don’t try to resist because I’d kidnap your laptop until you give in.” Seriously, it might just look like random white dots against a black and blue sky but it’s pretty fucking neat looking up close.

His fit of laughter at the small rambling makes me laugh along. “It’s not, you ass. And don’t joke about kidnapping,” he shudders.

“Okay, then I guess it’s a stalemate. Both our rooms are equally as badass,” I flop back down in front of him.

“I like your stars, though.” I don’t bother calling out bullshit because: a) glow in the dark shit is pretty cool and b) when he first went into my room to hang out he actually did look genuinely impressed. His already big eyes lit up and I guess he never really had some and when I explained they were shaped in a shoddy recreation of actual constellations he had a big grin on his face that caused a tightening in my chest and a warmth deep within, as sappy as that sounds.

“Too bad the real things aren’t that visible, even with the minimal light from town, it’d be cool if they looked as close as they do with a telescope,” I muse. It’d be cool to see things from up close using one of the super powered telescopes some universities have at their disposal.

“You have one?” Tweek raises his eyebrows at his question.

“Fuck yes.” I keep it safe in my closet from the possibility of getting dropped or stepped on, so he didn’t get to see it those few times he’s been over. “I wanted a telescope for a long time but my parents chose to get me braces instead. I saved up and still bought one recently, even though it’s not that great.” If they chipped in too I could’ve gotten a better one but I wanted to pay for it myself, so I got the best inexpensive one I could find. “But god, braces sucked dick. A bag of dicks, actually.”

“That bad?” he teases.

“Shut it. Yes, you don’t know the pain, man.”

“Well at least now you have better teeth.”

“After all those pain in the ass dentist visits, they better be.” The feeling of them being tightened still haunts me sometimes. And it didn’t help that the dentist and assistant made it look like a spectacle, looking over like my fucked up teeth were so damn fascinating. And they were too polite and tried making small talk every single time, it was awkward.

“Did you have a say in it?” he laughs so I flip him off indignantly.

“Nope. They just told me I was getting them and that was that.”

“You didn’t argue back?” he says, shocked.

“Nah.” There wasn’t really any point, I knew I needed them. It was more like a casual, ‘you’re getting braces’ ‘okay’ kind of thing.

“Well, I guess that is understandable. Your parents can be pretty scary, man. I think they hate me, it seems like they do. God, it’s intimidating being around them,” he nervously plays with his hands. Probably because they’re my parents but I never thought of them as intimidating. Reserved? Sure. Assholes? Yeah, but in my family who isn’t? But intimidating isn’t really fitting to me, though to others I guess I can see it. I’ve seen how dad gets weirdly worked up over those weird survivalist shows and how mom takes scrabble too seriously, so it’s hard to see them as anything but normal boring parents. That cuss in front of their kids, but whatever.

“Nah, they like you for _some_ reason,” I roll my eyes to tease him and get payback for his earlier mocking.

“Gee, thanks,” he deadpans, not taking the teasing as helpful.

“Really. They like you and Ruby asks about you, asking if she can play with your hair or something.” Apparently my family genuinely likes Tweek and they think he’s interesting, even if they haven’t gotten to know him all that well. But they’re pretty good judges of character, and if I’m keen on someone then they don’t question it. Or rather how, since I’m pretty sure they know what I feel isn’t exactly ‘friends’ and give out small comment about it, subtle enough to hold some interest but in typical Tucker manner it comes off as indifferent. But they know. I’m sure of it.

“What?”

“Her words, not mine.” Ruby, on the other hand is much more vocal about it, making snide remarks about taking forever and shit while also wanting to see more of Tweek, which she will next year that she starts high school. _Great_.

“You do have pretty long hair,” I point out, changing my focus to him. His hair, despite being very unruly, is grown out a bit and the color is very blond that it’s almost white, but it has a certain look to it that seems like it’s be soft to touch, but I shouldn’t.

“If you’re sure she won’t cut it all off and leave me bald to make fun of me when we go back to school or something like that then sure, I guess?” if someone can shrug questionably yet assured and make it seem natural, Tweek’s your guy.

“Dude, chill. She’d do that to me, that asshole, not to you. Promise.”

“If you say so. And you’re sure they don’t hate me? Adults are fucking weird, it’s hard to figure them out,” he admits but it seems reasonable, since the town isn’t exactly filled with the most trustworthy adults. And I mean the trustworthy in the sense of acting with some actual sense. Many of our problems have been because of their poor and/or lack of judgment.

But the fact that he thinks they’re hard to figure out is kind of ironic, at least to me. “So are you,” I blurt out. The more I’ve thought about him as we got to know each other, the more I can’t seem to understand him, at least when it comes to what he thinks of me, which if he were anyone else I wouldn’t give it a second thought but the need to know has been forcing it’s way out from being at the back of my mind. If only this was easy.

“I’m serious!”

“And what makes you think I’m not?”

The question didn’t seem like it should be much, but it was and he must think so too, he’s gone silent. What exactly he’s thinking of is killing me to know. Plotting out the life of stars from birth to death, caring for a guinea pig, knowing the ins and outs to my village on animal crossing, or even being able to predict when someone’s going to ask for something so I can walk the other way are things I can do, things that are familiar. But this is new territory that’s nerve-wracking.

With the relaxed atmosphere we created over our talk, including sitting comfortably close to each other on his bed, the nagging feeling of the moment being right kept creeping up. _Jesus fucking Christ, get a grip_. I’d do something but I’m too chickenshit to try, you can’t tell what’s what with Tweek sometimes and to say or do something about this whole . . . _thing_ would be completely out of the question.

But the unexplainable feeling from just being with him is overwhelming. He meets my gaze, and it feels like I’m already completely surrounded by him. Here, in his room that’s so unapologetically Tweek-like and magnetized by the nebulous colors form his eyes; it was all too hyper real. I felt a twisting in my gut from looking at him; the freckles extended over his face from too much sun (and those that I remember exist on his shoulders), the slight curve of his nose upwards, and chapped lips that he continuously bites nervously out of habit and on purpose. _Fuck, what is this kid doing to me._

I’d like to have the feeling of his skin against mine like when we were holding hands again. Following my thoughts, my eyes look to his hands for a bit and it’s like I can almost feel him. The memory of the warmth of his hand, the softness of his fingers and texture of his knuckles as well as the couple band-aids that are seemingly always on him cloud my mind.

 _Maybe this wasn’t a good idea._ Looking back at him, I think that yeah, this probably wasn’t a good idea at all, no matter how much it feels like it is.

Usually uncomfortable with prolonged eye contact (he says it freaks him out and seems fishy when directed at him), I decide it’d be best to just look away and hope the term ‘bedroom eyes’ didn’t apply to what I just gave him. The irony didn’t escape me, considering we’re sitting face to face on his bed. But before I could turn my head around, there’s a tugging at the flaps of my hat as pulls my face to his, crushing our lips together.

 

 

[ . . . ]

 

Did I regret what I just did? No. Well, probably after but right now it just felt too good of a moment. Really, I wasn’t thinking and maybe if things were different, i.e. I had a good night’s sleep and wasn’t tired, wasn’t hopped up on coffee (why did I make myself more?!), and if Craig wasn’t so close that my brain was completely filled with him, then maybe I wouldn’t have acted impulsively and kissed him.

Moments like those that are always talked about in stories and tv where they mention their fight or flight instinct going into action in an instant made sense at the time. I don’t know, but everything screamed to do something and so the next thing I know I’m reaching out and pulling him to me.

It sure as hell dawns on me that I could’ve misread the situation, but fuck, it was worth it, even if things don’t pan out well after because the warmth of his lips against mine and the slight smell of carbon still lingering from his clothes from the bonfire mixed with the smell of mint from those damn breath mints he’s always chewing on were very influential in my decision.

 _I’ll miss this,_ I think to myself as I pull away from him and let go, already bracing for the worst and trying to commit to memory how it felt like to kiss Craig Tucker.

 _Please don’t hate me._ Craig’s eyes are widened in a way I haven’t seen before and I’m beginning to think this was a stupendous way to fuck up a good friendship. Oh man, what if he hits me or something? He wouldn’t do that right? No, of course not, or at least I’m pretty sure he won’t, oh man why did I do this? I’m losing confidence very fast and a hand at my clenched fist on the bed brings me back in focus.

Craig doesn’t look mad, thank god, but he moves closer, placing the free hand that’s not on my clenched hand on my cheek and what he’s doing clicks as I clutch his shirt by his chest with my free hand, pulling him closer and meet him halfway.

This time he kisses back and it’s so much better as our lips move against each other with equal intensity. It’s so much, so excruciating and magnificent that his breath on my skin, our noses brushing together every once in a while and the my heartbeat in my ears are all overwhelmingly prominent. All the pent up emotion is expressed through our kissing; it has to be the same for him, why would he kiss me if it wasn’t?! Everything just felt so right and as we break away, I felt breathless.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Craig says, winded as he holds on to the side of my face for a while more before dropping his hand back at his side. He takes his hat off and runs his fingers over his hair.

“I’m sorry?” my voice sounds hoarse and I’m still not clear on why that just happened, I mean I could assume it’s for the same reason I kissed him first but I’m not exactly thinking straight (not that I already was).

He shakes his head. “What was that,” another one of his question-statements as he’s thinking over what just happened.

“A kiss,” even if I wanted to try to begin to explain I wouldn’t be able to, and instead just say the obvious, which is of course not helpful at all.

“But what did it mean. To you,” I feel the need to brush everything away, to lie my ass off as best as I can, but I can’t. This had to happen sometime, right? There was never any avoiding this, I realize.

“I, uh . . . I-It means that I like you,” the warmth in my face intensifies and I want the bed to swallow me but I know I need to do this.

“As in _like_ right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, good,” his shoulders visibly sag but it offers no explanation or clear-cut reason as to why and it’s frustrating.

“That’s it?” As far as confessions go, this has got to be the most anticlimactic one. Shouldn’t there be more to it or at least a response after? This isn’t how I imagined it would happen, and I’ve though of various scenarios, all ranging from a ‘sorry,’ to death, but that last one’s an extreme that probably would never happen.

He takes a moment before speaking, “I like you too. So do you want to uh . . . what now? Should we go out?” _Oh, god_. Somehow this seems befitting that I want to laugh at the situation but it’d probably just come out maniacally.

“Do you want to?” The question seems plain but there’s so much riding behind that his, “Do _you_?” mirrors and it’s relieving that he must be freaking out about it too. Even if the way he says it, the small awkward body language would give it away.

“Yeah, that’d be nice,” I grin.

“Cool. Great. So we’re together. Boyfriends. Just like that. Right?”

“Yeah,” I pull him into another kiss to shut him up, smiling against his lips at his awkward proposal. We kiss until we break away and a yawn escapes my mouth that makes Craig yawn too. Not surprising that after an eventful night we’d be tired.

“Should I get out?” he seems unsure of what to so.

“Would sleeping next to each other really be the worst thing ever? We already decided to be in a relationship and we’ve said some pretty personal things, I think sharing a bed would be the least personal thing we could do at this point,” I laugh lightly, a bit surprised I can even form a coherent sentence, let alone argument.

“Fair point.”

I get up to turn off the light and we lie down next to each other, shoulder to shoulder that’s more comforting than intimate. Craig turns on the flashlight from his phone and sets it facing the ceiling so the room’s as illuminated as possible. Eyes to the ceiling, I finally have the time to properly process what’s happened today.

“Why,” I finally ask.

“Why what.”

“Do you like me.”

“Well, besides the obvious fact that you’re attractive, I don’t know. You feel . . . right, if that makes sense. Unless you want a detailed list of things,” I can hear the amusement in his tone and a shift by the bed that he’s probably turned his head.

“It’s fine. Maybe some other time I’ll ask for them,” I face him to see him looking at me already. “You’re not so bad yourself,” I humor him and he smiles. “Thanks.”

“And it does make sense, you feel right too,” I tell him. It might not be the most expressive reasoning but there’s no other words that come to mind that would explain it all that well. Maybe that’s just who we are, sensible people.

We lie in silence for a while and as Craig’s hand laces with mine, a wave of serenity washes over me. I don’t know how he became a good part of my life, but I suppose it’s the same with anyone, really. The only other people I’ve let in so much has been Bebe, Cristophe, and Damien, though Bebe was much easier since it was later when things were getting better and we were all able to trust her as a unit and include her.

Damien and Christophe on the other hand were a different story. We all met around the same time, and even though they have lived here before, met is still fitting since I was only until near the end of middle school that we actually started coming together. I guess it was mainly through similar circumstances that we attracted each other.

*Christophe at the time was dealing with the knowledge that his father, who had abandoned him and his mom, had a new family back in France. More than that, he still had unresolved problems with his mom over the fact she almost tried to terminate her pregnancy. Damien was dealing with finding out he was half human, which he didn’t think he was, and that his mom offed herself a few years after he was born. The fact that he was only half demon seethed within him, and would’ve been worse if his dad hadn’t intervened.*

When we met again, properly, we weren’t too keen on getting close to people, since we had a mess of issues on our own, but we kind of sensed a familiarity and little by little became an important part of each other’s lives. We still aren’t completely over what we’ve went through, but then again, most people don’t and it’s fine if we never do because we know we’d be there for each other. Which is why they know when something’s off with me and because for the most part I’ve made peace with my parents, they trust them since they do seem to be getting better at being parents. And how we know when Christophe sometimes checks in on his estranged dad and his new family but never makes contact and that Damien’s becoming more like his father and is getting past the hatred towards his human part he used to have.

The things I’ve been entrusted with from the people that matter to me and what I’ve trusted them with have become integral parts in our relationships, knowing we’d keep the things we’ve said between us and looking past names that others have given us, like ‘bastard,’ ‘monster,’ and ‘freak,' knowing they’re a twisted version of what we are.

And the short list of people now includes Craig, who feels so natural to be with and confide in that it’s amazing how we just now came closer despite having grown up together.

“Hey Tweek?”

“Yeah?”

“When you said all that stuff earlier about what happened with you and your parents, you said you never doubted their love for each other, but did you doubt their love towards you?”

“Sometimes; I’m not sure. Back then I uh, wasn’t sure of a lot of things and I was trying so hard to keep it together and try to make sense of things,” at least enough to not go completely insane. But as surprising as it is to me sometimes, it’s worked out well now, enough that I don’t worry as much about them, though the times that it does happen and I become anxious about what might happen it doesn’t last long. Plus unlike before, I have people there for me now.

It feels good, to know there’s someone else I can tell these things to enough to know I can trust them and enough to want to. “C-Can I ask you something?”

“Go for it,” he says.

“Where were you born.” He didn’t say when he told me he’d been adopted, and I wanted to ask but figured it’d be best to ask later.

“Peru. It took my parents a while to go through the adoption and filing out necessary papers and stuff. I was a little over a year old once they were able to take me home, here.”

“Do you plan on going? To Peru.”

“Eventually, yeah.”

“Would you try to track down your biological parents?”

“I’m not sure. If I do, I’d just want to see them but I’m fine with never meeting or getting to know them. They’re not my real parents, this is home,” he squeezes my hand and I return the gesture.

After that the comfortable silence whenever I’m with him comes back and who knows how long before I realize he’s asleep. With my free hand I turn off the flashlight on his phone and place it back near him. Feeling sleep creep in, I spend the rest of my time awake thinking and trying to commit to memory the shapes Craig’s face makes in the dark before I realize I don’t have to, there’ll be plenty other times to do so and I can take my time with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait! i read the whole foxhole court series and got really into it, then i started and caught up to the whole boku no hero academia manga and anime plus reading a couple fanfics of it so i've really just been neglecting this fic. 
> 
> originally i didn't think past the events here but i think i know what to do for the last chapter/epilogue. but thank you for still bothering to read this and i'm sorry i've been dragging this out, hopefully the update wasn't disappointing


	9. The Day After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's a [playlist](http://8tracks.com/bonriensis/somewhere-tonight) of all the songs from this fic in case some of you were interested. there's some pretty okay songs for an okay-ish fanfic
> 
> anyways here's the shortest chapter ever, the final one/epilogue

Tracks:

Grizzly Bear – Two Weeks

Last Dinosaurs – Weekend

 

 

It took a few moments to figure out where the hell I was after waking up. I knew for sure I wasn’t in my own room, nor was it Token or Clyde’s; the smell of coffee has never been in any of those rooms. It didn’t take long to remember the events from last night, and I finally figured it out through a just woken up thought process that I was at Tweek’s house. _In Tweek’s Bed._ Holy shit I slept with Tweek. And holy shit, he’s my boyfriend now. What a fucking night.

I roll on my back, noticing the slight backache from my sleeping position, which I should stop since this happens every time I sleep on my stomach but never go through with it. It doesn’t take long for my eyes to meet his as I sit up in his bed. He’s sitting on a chair by his table filled with old mugs and scattered supplies, an open book in front of him, and when he sees I’m awake it seems like his eyes soften and body relaxes, which send a wave of ease over me; he looks like he actually slept. Now that the sunlight seeps in and I can get a different perspective of his room, with the addition of him in it, it seems like it’s all interconnected, like he was able to find how to make himself part of this section of a house and make it his.

“Hey,” he almost whispers, the first of us to talk.

“Hey. So last night,” I want to ask if it really happened or if it was jut some sick twisted wonderful fucking dream but my mouth can’t keep up with what my brain wants to say.

“Yeah,” he smiles, confirming everything I want to know. With no tact whatsoever, I sigh in relief that it wasn’t fake. Thankfully he doesn’t snicker or anything like that, but just stays seated cross-legged on the chair. “Have you been up long?” Even if it didn’t show on his face he managed to get some sleep, his hair would be a clue. It looks more like a rat’s nest than his usual messy do.

“Not much, maybe fifteen minutes?” Okay, cool. Not that awkward then, since being the first one up usually is lame and who knows how he thinks of that, but he doesn’t look all that bothered by it.

“Do you want to borrow a toothbrush? I think we have some new ones in case you want to use one.”

“Nah, I think I should head back home.” I never texted anyone I was staying over and checking my phone I see it’s pretty much dead, but I do get a chance to see it’s a bit after twelve now before the screen turns black. Yeah, I should definitely head over in case my parents are wondering where I am, that is, if Token told them I wasn’t at his house. Plus I can taste my morning breath and it’s pretty rank, but thankfully I still have mints in one of the pockets of the hoodie I went to sleep with. The mints help wake me up and I notice not only that he’s also in his clothes from last night (which are also wrinkled from having slept in them last night like mine) but he’s looking at me intently as I finish crunching the mints in my mouth.

He’s about to speak when he hears a noise in the house and looks wide-eyed at me. “Actually about that we need to talk,” he clutches at his shirt nervously, like he used to do when we were kids.

“Is that your parents?” We didn’t come across them last night, which was good since they could’ve insinuated something, but this isn’t a better alternative either.

“Yeah,” he bites his bottom lip.

“And you’re stressing what they’re going to think when they find out I spent the night?” I ask and he nods.

“You want me to climb out?” it’s not really ideal, but if it’d ease his mind then I’d try. I’ve done that plenty times, though it’s usually to get to the roof than leave the house. But usually I have to carry things with me so what I usually do’s probably more challenging and this would be easier, I just have to make sure not to make any noise.

“No! No, that’s not – I-I don’t want you to do that.”

“Then what should we do?” Though we’ve been dating less than twelve hours (maybe two hours since most of that was us sleeping) it’s no big deal to meet his parents, if he wants.

“I wasn’t sure what you wanted to do, actually. My parents are fine with the whole liking guys thing, but I don’t know how it’s like with you and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable and stuff so, uh, w-what do you want to do?”

“My parents are cool too.”

“So do we tell them? Because what if they already know you’re here or that someone’s here and they think that we did something that we didn’t and assume something that isn’t. I mean it is but not like _that_ or at least last night it wasn’t, not that I’m saying we should do that, but-”

“Tweek, dude, calm down. We’ll just tell them the truth,” I try to downplay it so he’d catch his breath and he goes with it.

“Just like that,” he says through deep inhales and exhales until he calms down.

“Yeah just like that,” I reassure him with a small smile.

“Okay,” he stands and I move next to him. As we put on our shoes and walk downstairs, we move to the source of the noise, the kitchen. Thinking I’d see his two parents, I find it’s just a small woman with her back to us, doing who knows what. Well, this solves the not-quite mystery of where Tweek gets his height from, and if I remember correctly his dad’s not that tall either.

Despite it being the afternoon, Mrs. Tweak says, “Morning, sweetheart. I’ll make you breakfast in a seco- _Oh_.” She turned from her place to look at Tweek and noticed me, and her eyes go down to where our hands are awkwardly linked together.

“I didn’t know you had someone over,” she soothes over her apron, “I do hope you’re being safe, honey, I know the thrill of the moment can drive people to do things but please always keep in mind that you have to think of safe choices whenever you choose a partner. Now, are you boys hungry? I’ll make you both something,” she moves to the fridge, completely graceful despite her previous comment that shocked me. _Did she really just say that?_

“ _Mom!_ ” Tweek cries out.

“What? You don’t want anything to eat? You know you have to eat something to take with your pills, sweetheart,” she says in a way that’s chastising a child, completely oblivious to why he’s complaining.

“No, not _that._ ” He looks red from embarrassment and although still shocked, I’m pretty sure my face matches his. _Probably not helping her understand it’s not like that_. Fuck, we probably look like we’re confirming her suspicions.

“Oh, about the whole having safe sex? Tweek, it’s never enough times to remind someone, especially your child, to make safe decisions. You’re both old enough to know these things but still, it’s always good to remind you to use protection whenever you decide to take someone home.”

“ _Oh God, kill me now,_ ” he mutters, completely mortified at his mom’s candid remarks that would be funny if it didn’t also involve me in it. It’s kinda awkward, having the mom of the guy you’re dating telling him to use condoms with the guy he’s dating right next to him. Especially since this is the first time I’ve talked to Mrs. Tweak. So yeah, if Tweek’s prayers are being answered I hope they take pity on me as well because this is a conversation I wish never started.

“It’s not like that, Mrs. Tweak,” I finally pipe up.

At the sound of my voice, she turns to me with a smile on her face. She looks a lot like Tweek, except for the brown hair.

“Where are my manners? I’m Tweek’s mom, Marie Tweak,” she extends her arm out and I shake it. “Craig. Craig Tucker.”

“Laura’s son, of course. You’ve been hanging out with Tweek for a while now,” she nods her head. Tweek’s probably told her about me if she recognizes my name. “Well, Craig, there are various other things that can count as sex without the actual sex and you must always remember to be safe,” she immediately follows and I’m struck again. This is something I wasn’t expecting and I’ve no fucking clue what to say to that.

“ _M-Mom._ It’s _really_ not like that,” Tweek implores.

“Tweek and I are, um . . . well, the thing is,” I try to explain, but fail. Luckily, Tweek cuts in.

“Craig’s my boyfriend, mom. H-He slept over last night, but that’s it!”

“Well, I’m sorry for the insinuation, boys. Oh my, your father’s going to be so excited when he hears you’re dating someone!” She clasps her hand together in excitement, which makes her look younger than she probably is. However, it dies down and takes a more serious tone. “But still, remember what I said. Just because it didn’t happen last night doesn’t mean it won’t in the future,” she doesn’t let the subject go, but at least she believes her son.

“Will do, ma’am,” maybe she’ll leave it at that if I just agree and miraculously she just nods, satisfied at my response. She turns back to making food, and Tweek makes a run for it, away from the kitchen and into the living room, towing me by the hand. He faces me, leaning his forehead on my shoulder, sagging his from the conversation with his mother once we’re out of her line of vision.

“Well, that went well,” I tell him and he groans.

“Oh Jesus, that was freaking horrible, man!” I rub his back to console him.

“Hey, I was embarrassed too.”

“But she’s not _your_ mom. Your parents don’t embarrass you in front of friends. And they don’t even mean to do it, but it still happens! I doubt your mom would’ve said the same things! She probably would’ve been like ‘Oh hi, Tweek. Didn’t know you were sleeping over. There’s food if you want’ and just left it at that!” He removes his head to drag his hands down his face.

I take a minute to think, and find he’s kinda right, she wouldn’t really pry. “Probably. But then _I_ would be the one hearing the sex talk from her or my dad, or both.” The thought leaves a sour taste in my mouth. “Plus, Ruby would join in. And that’s pretty much how it’ll go down once I tell them.” Hopefully not. Hopefully they remember the extremely awkward talk they tried to have with me about safe gay sex they looked up online, because I sure as hell do. Mrs. Tweak’s comments, though awkward, have nothing on my parents looking flustered and trying to find the right words on how to describe the mechanics of male on male sex. _Never again._ There are countless things I’d rather do than go through that again.

 _Oh, God there’s also Ruby._ “At least you don’t have a sibling so you won’t have to suffer the teasing, you lucky asshole.”

“My friends more than make up for it,” he laughs and I join. “Oh god, mine too,” I groan.

“Maybe they won’t? Maybe they’ll get tired of it after a bit and stop?” He offers but by the tone of his voice it’s clear that it’s wishful thinking. God, I’d rather not go through Clyde and Token’s smug looks when I tell them we’re together.

“If they don’t I’ll buy you a lifetime supply of coffee,” I wager, confident that I won’t be in debt the rest of my life with the way he inhales the stuff.

“Well, great. Now I’m never getting set for life,” he huffs lightly.

“Too bad, kid,” I click my tongue. While his mom’s busy making food, we spend the time waiting watching morning cartoons, discussing which were our favorites when we were kids. It turns into a heated debate whether which Futurama character is the best before we’re called over to eat in the kitchen, Tweek dreading the possible further embarrassment by the hands of his mom.

After breakfast and a promise from Mrs. Tweak to come by some other time for dinner so I could meet Mr. Tweak who’s looking after the shop, which Tweek groans and complains justifiably like any other embarrassed teen, he walks me out after I tell her bye. As he closes the door behind him, he takes a dramatic sigh of relief. Mrs. Tweak made a couple more comments, still a bit embarrassing since we haven’t been together long, and it seems Tweek’s relieved I’m far away to not hear her small remarks about us. She’s nothing like I thought she would be from the little I know of her, but at least she seems cool enough, especially since she can make Tweek this flustered by her statements, even if I am caught in the crossfire.

“You want me to walk you home?” he asks me.

“I’m good. But how gentlemanly of you” I tease him and he slaps my arm, laughing.

“Thanks. Wouldn’t want you to get lost, now would I?” In South Park, it’s impossible to do so, even if you’re wearing a blindfold.

“Probably not,” I smirk.

“Yeah. There’s a lot of weirdos out there.”

“Thank God I have you.”

“Of course. _Someone’s_ gotta watch your back,” his lips turn up confidently.

Not wanting to leave just yet, I say, “So, I was thinking. You wanna hang out later? I could definitely kick your ass again at air hockey,” hoping to see him again after I head off.

“You rigged that somehow! There’s no way you can be that good!”

“What can I say, I’m just that good. Not my fault you suck,” I remember the pitiful display he showed me when we went to the arcade when he decided to see first-hand if my bragging was right, which it was. It sooo fucking was.

“Hey! I was close to winning one game,” he raises an eyebrow in fake self-assurance.

“You hit the puck so hard that it flew off. Three times,” I snicker. And he wasn’t even close to winning all the games we spent all day on.

“Whatever. I swear I’ll beat you someday.”

“Looking forward to it. So, it’s a date?”

“It’s a date,” he hesitates a bit before grabbing one of my hands with his and pulls my head down with the other and I grab his cheek, tilting it up so I could duck down and meet him halfway in a goodbye kiss.

“I should go,” I tell him after a moment of nothing following the peck.

“See you later, Craig,” he gives a small smile.

Walking away from Tweek’s house I can still feel the pressure of his lips and the warmth of his hands on the way home, feeling the smile plastered on my face though I still feel the numbness from his touch through my body. With the memory of everything since that first time I talked to him back then to now replaying in my mind and the promise of meeting up later, I look forward to it.

 

 

 

[ . . . ]

 

 

The day after the bonfire, which was not only the first day of my relationship with Craig but also our first date, was nothing like I thought it’d be. Thinking it’d be awkward and with new sets of rules and boundaries that would redo the way we were before getting together, I was glad there was no difference from when we were friends, of course with the addition of handholding.

And although there was suffering from telling Damien, Christophe, and Bebe about how Craig and I weren’t just friends anymore in the form of teasing and explicit comments (mostly Bebe rubbing it in), I was finally relieved to get a huge weight off my chest. Apparently so was Craig, who, like he said, not only had to suffer Token and Clyde’s taunting but also from his sister. Luckily it didn’t last long, though there was the occasional comment here and there the rest of our vacation, which was filled with hanging out at either one’s houses or with our friends. But it was a different thing to have his and my parents and friends know about our status to the fact we would have to go to school and figure a new routine because we were used to mainly hanging out outside school that the nature of how things would be from now on was nerve-wracking.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous at what to do in school since neither Craig nor I have ever been in an actual relationship. It wasn’t the fact at being out to the school (I have no idea nor do I care if people knew that) but I was afraid of fucking things up. Of doing something or the old talks of what happened back then coming back and getting to him, putting a strain between us. Silly? Yes, but it’s how I am; nothing’s too small to not be worth the extra anxiety, even if Craig’s assured me nothing like that would happen and we could take it as slowly as needed.

Meeting him at the front of the school after catching a ride like always from Christophe and meeting Damien, we all hung out for a bit, collecting our schedules from the counselor’s table set out outside. Clyde, Token, Bebe, Christophe, and Damien were talking animatedly about something I couldn’t focus on; there was a twist in my stomach from not knowing what to expect. Craig, noticing the tense of my shoulders, held my hand and the familiarity was easing my nerves. He held it through the rest of the morning until the bell rang and everyone started heading off into the school.

Craig and I, who share our homeroom with Token and Christophe, who went ahead, takes my hand as we start walking towards the inside. The chugs of coffee I took from my thermos as my own liquid courage hasn’t kicked in yet and I want to will my hands from nearly shaking from the uneasiness I can’t help but feel. Craig’s reassuring words replay in my mind and I look up at him.

He’s holding my hand and I feel the nervousness coarse through my body. This is all new and uncharted territory and I’m scared and he’s holding my hand with such tenderness that I feel like maybe I _will_ be okay. He looks at me with those startling grey eyes that looks like a gentle storm – contradictory, I know – and it feels like he’s not just looking at me, but through me and all around. Noticing my anxiousness, his grip loosens – maybe he thinks this will help but it’s not what I want – so I hold his hand tighter, feeling his calm transfer over and settling.

I look at him and he looks at me as we’re about to enter the building and his hand’s in mine, grey gaze to hazel one, bandaged hands to warm tanned ones, it feels like a piece of a puzzle I didn’t know was missing a part and it comes together. I smile at him and he smiles at me and I can’t wait to feel the same feeling tomorrow and so on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did it, it's finally over. i don't know how i feel about this because i know it could've been better and idk if i wrote the issues with tweek's parents and him well (i love their relationship in a lot of fics but wanted to address the meth situation). i do like how some things came out i'm not trying to fish for compliments but yeah this was my first try at writing something creative (middle/high school creative homework doesn't count) plus it's a miltichapter fic, even though it's kinda short and yeah i did a couple oneshots but those were a spur of the moment things. but it was a learning experience and thank you all who've taken the time to read my shoddy attempt at trying to write
> 
> idk, hopefully i do better from now on because there are some ideas for future projects, especially one in particular that i plan on making really long which i've been slowly developing for months so hopefully i go through with it


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